Adagio
by QuiaVeritatis
Summary: Yes. This is the same story...different screen name. I have been having some trouble lately. I will get this one reposted. Tell me if you didn't finish Allegro and need that one back up too. Sorry about this. :
1. Chapter 1

Adagio

Chapter 1: Wine

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

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"Oh, V. That looks beautiful." Evey extended her hand to receive the delicate wineglass from V's gloved fingers. He had given her a glass for red. The stem seemed rather short but only because the bowl was so large. She turned the crystal, admiring the shape and the glitter the candlelight reflected in the curves. She had to stop moving the glass, as he was now bringing the mouth of the wine bottle towards her. She held the glass still as he poured the ruby liquid. She watched as the wine swirled in the bowl, the most delightful scent of berries and roses wafted to her face. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the perfume. "Ah…it has been years since I tasted any good wine, and I think I have never experienced anything like this, ever. What is this?" she asked him as she took a tiny sip.

"It's a Cabernet. Almost ten years old. If I had paid for it, it would have cost more than ₤90. It is very fine. It suits you." He stood there by her elbow, watching her taste it.

Her mouth burst with the flavor of ripe, sun-washed berries. After the silky sweetness slid down her throat she breathed in the aftertaste of oak and fresh grass. "Oh God," she closed her eyes and leaned back against the softness of the sofa, tucking her feet under her, "this is the most blissful glass of wine I have ever tasted." She opened her eyes to look at him. She could tell he was pleased. He bounced up just a tiny fraction on the balls of his feet and turned his head. His hair swayed against his shoulders. Evey extended her glass for more and he poured. "Aren't you going to have any?" she asked, frowning, for he made no move to sit beside her. She shifted position to look behind him to see the wine bottles he had set out on the table near the sofa. He had brought out at least ten, all shapes, sizes, colors, and a little army of glasses for red, white, champagne flutes and even a brandy snifter. "These can't all be for me."

"No, no, not all at once," he laughed softly, "I'm just showing off my little hoard. This is what I was able to secure last night while you were sleeping."

"So sit down and pour yourself a glass. I can't wait to hear what you think of this Cabernet. You are so much more knowledgeable than I am." She patted the cushion beside her. "Taste it and tell me how the vintner could make such a magical transformation from a common grape."

"No, I can't. Please drink that one. I have a Chardonnay chilling in the bucket I want you to taste, and if you like the Cabernet, there is a ₤300 Champagne that will amaze you."

"No." Evey set her glass down on the coaster. "I can't drink this fabulous stuff by myself. It's obscene. Wine like this is meant to be drunk with friends. You know that. I won't take another sip until you have tasted it too."

She heard him sigh. His arms dropped to his sides. His chin dipped to his collar. "You know I can't, Eve. Don't tease me. I so want to share this with you."

"But you're not sharing, are you. This isn't sharing. You are not sharing until you have taken a sip." She touched the sofa beside her leg. "Sit down, V."

He stood there, unmoving. Evey waited. She knew him well enough by now. He would sit. He would taste the wine. She just had to be patient, let him think. Sure enough, after a pause he moved past her knees and gracefully sank into the cushions beside her. She offered him her glass, now half-full, but he made no move to take it from her.

"No. Evey. Take another taste and tell me what you experience. Does it glide over your tongue? Is the bouquet heady? When you taste it, how long is the finish? Do you feel a thrill?"

Evey felt a twinge of pain in her heart as she heard the longing in his voice, the eagerness, the sadness. _This cannot continue. He has to have some_. "V. I insist. Take the glass." She moved the glass under his nose, swirling the wine, forcing the bouquet into the mask. The stemware, with its brilliant red contents, was like a rose offered to him. _I offer it to him_. Again, she waited, taking her cue from the way he sat motionless there, their knees almost touching. _He's thinking again. He will take it. He must._.

Evey's arm began to ache from holding her wine glass stretched out in front of her. _Take it, V_, she willed him. _I can hold it here forever if I have to_. She watched him think. She watched him want the wine. The mask tilted. _He is looking from the glass to my face._ _He's watching me, too_. Evey smiled a slow smile, a loving smile. She shook the glass gently, sending a fresh wave of fragrance into his mask. _I know you can smell this_. _Take it_. Slowly a black glove rose from his lap. Two long fingers touched the wineglass, stroked the bowl before pinching the delicate stem. _Victory! He will take it_.

"Thank you, Evey," he murmured.

"Shall I get you a…a straw?" she wondered. _The wine is affecting me already. It is heady stuff._

"No, Heavens no. It would be a travesty to put this wine through a straw." He held the glass up to the candles that burned on the table. So many candles, dozens of them, each tiny flame reflected off the curved surface of the crystal.

Evey watched him admire the color, swirl and tip the glass. She watched him bring the glass to the mask and listened as he inhaled the fragrance. Evey watched him love the wine with a growing warmth in her heart that had nothing to do with alcohol. _He is the most wonderful man I have ever known. _

"Are you going to taste it?" She had to ask, since it appeared he had no intention of touching it to his mouth. She would not let him get away with merely admiring the wine. In order to share it properly, he must drink. She slid closer, allowing their knees to touch.

He looked at her, then at the wine. He bowed his head. "I will, if you want me to."

"I insist. Please. I want to share this with you, V. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever put in my mouth." She smiled wickedly. _The wine is making me feel a little naughty. _She thought about kissing him. _What would he taste like after sipping that wine?_

He dipped his head, bowing to her again, then turned around completely. Evey found herself looking at his back. This was not such an unpleasant sight. His broad shoulders were at her eye level, so she let her eyes wander from the point of his shoulder to his waist, delighting in that graceful taper, imagining what was beneath the black silk. His hair glimmered in the candlelight, the edges curled just enough to make her want to touch them. She reached a finger out, but drew it back as he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. _Can't fool him_. "Drink," she said. _I'm waiting_.

He turned away again, Evey watched as his elbow came up smoothly. Then the white mask appeared on the top of his head, its nose pointing up at the ceiling, the glove over its mouth. His head tipped back. The mask looked at her upside down. _He did it. He did take a drink._ The wineglass came down to his side, empty.

Evey quickly reached for the bottle. There was enough of the red for one more half glass. She refilled the glass from behind him before he could object. When he saw what she was doing, he laughed.

"What are you trying to do?" he asked her. His voice sounded so clear. For the first time Evey heard the baritone without a muffle. A shiver ran through her. _It is like hearing him naked._

"I'm sharing this wine with my friend," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. "Take another drink." He did, this time the glass was only half empty as he brought it down. Evey stared at the back of his shoulders. "Well?" What do you think?"

"It is remarkable, as I expected. I'm glad I took two bottles." He handed the glass back to her.

Evey giggled. "Let's open the other one now!"

He laughed again. She would never tire of hearing him laugh. "No. Let me get the Chardonnay. It will be cold now." The glove came up, the mask came down and he rose and went to the kitchen. Evey looked at the glass in her hand. She moved to raise it to her lips and drain the last bit, to drink the wine he had drunk, the wine that had touched his mouth. She brought the glass up to her face, and stopped. There, on the opposite side of her own tiny lip mark, was a larger lip print. His lip print. She touched it with her finger. There was something stimulating about touching that print. She brought the rim to her mouth, touched his mark with her tongue. Put both her lips on it. _I've just now kissed him_. It felt good. Even an imaginary kiss felt good. What would the real thing feel like? Her body responded to that thought. She wriggled on the sofa. She looked back over the edge of the sofa, waiting for him. _Hurry_. _Come back_.

He appeared around the doorway, moving quickly, a dripping bottle in one hand, the corkscrew in the other. He brought her the wine. "Hold this while I get the glasses." Evey held the cold bottle until he produced the white wine stemware. _Two glasses this time_, she noticed with triumph. _I will not be drinking the Chardonnay alone_.

He poured. Evey raised her glass to toast, he brought his up to meet hers and they clinked prettily together. "Amore," Evey said. His hand shook and precious drops of Chardonnay landed on her knee. _No. I am not a subtle woman_. Evey smiled and took a drink. He just stared at her. "Drink, V."

He turned around again, the mask slid up over his head. Again he drank the wine slowly, raising the glass several times before it was gone. He was truly enjoying himself. She could tell by the sounds he made. Evey closed her eyes to better enjoy her own. This wine was sweeter, drier. The bouquet was floral with a slightly spicy finish, and so cold. She opened her eyes again. A rush of happiness flowed through her. _Is it the wine?_ Can people really bottle happiness? V sighed next to her. _Yes. This little wine-tasting party has made him happy_. She finished her glass, reached out and put her hand on his back, between his shoulders. _He is always warm when I touch him. I don't touch him enough._ She moved that hand, feeling the muscles under the silk, the bones of his shoulder blades, the muscles over his ribs. Now two hands. One wasn't enough. She snaked her arms around his waist. He stiffened, reached for the mask and brought it down so he could turn around and face her. He was taking his strong back away from her, but now was making the front accessible. She put both hands on his chest instead.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Enjoying the wine," she whispered back. "Pour some more." He did. Offered her the sunny Chardonnay again. She took it with one hand, left the other on his chest, then moved it to his arm, feeling the strength in his bicep, in his shoulder, touched his neck. She sipped her wine looking at him. _Does he like me touching him?_ He wasn't making her stop. He hadn't moved away. She listened to him breathing. _It is the only way to tell._ He had dipped his head. _Is he thinking, or just looking at my camisole?_ She looked down at her chest. _Yes, that is what he is doing_. She was not wearing a bra and her nipples were holding the fine ivory silk of the little camisole out like tiny tent stakes. The imagery made her giggle. She crossed her legs to tame a shiver that emanated from between them. _Not yet. It's not time for that yet_. But her body wanted to argue with her. "V? Drink your wine."

She heard him laugh low and soft as he turned around again, lifted the mask. His hair was getting quite messy now; every pass of the mask over his head ruffled the hair a little more. Evey combed a few of the worst snarls through her fingers while he was drinking. His elbow paused when he felt her touch his head, but he didn't tell her to stop. She combed him between sips, laying the locks here and there, playing with them. She had wanted to touch them for so long. She leaned closer to the back of his neck and smelled him, leather and silk and the scent of a warm man. Evey squeezed her legs together, sighed with happiness. She set the empty glass down. He set his next to hers, touched the mask back into place and turned around again to face her.

"Eve."

"Hmm?" He had taken his hair away when he turned, she moved her hands to his thighs instead, running a finger over the muscle there. She was so close to him now, her head beneath his chin, her legs against his, she was practically on his lap. _Yes, that is what's next._ She thought about the best way to crawl into his lap.

"Eve. Please stop."

"Dun wanna," she answered. She heard him sigh. It would serve no purpose to look up at him. His expression never changed. She took all her cues from the sounds emanating from his chest just inches from her ear, and those sounds told her that his voice was lying. _If he touches my nipples_…his glove was dangerously close to her breasts…_I will know for sure that he fancies me. _Sure enough, she watched his hand twitch, then one finger of the glove moved the few inches to lightly touch one nipple through the silk. Evey leaned closer to tell him she liked it. Then the finger was joined by the other three. She leaned in closer to let him get a better grip and fell off the sofa.

She landed on the Isfahan all in a tangle of arms and legs, laughing. She banged her head against the table and laughed harder. She could hardly see from laughing. V joined her on his hands and knees down on the floor. His deeper laugh mingled with her own high giggle.

"Evey, are you hurt? I heard you hit the table."

"Nuh!" Evey couldn't stop giggling, she felt him put a glove on the back of her head. "Ow, " she laughed, "Ow." She watched with a disconnected astonishment as an empty black leather glove hit the carpet just beneath her eyes. She felt his bare hand on the back of her head through the short curls.

"You have a lump. I feel it. No more wine for you. It is getting dangerous."

"No!" she cried, "I want some more! Don't take it away!" This was too funny and she rolled on her back laughing. He laughed with her, tried to pick her up, but became unbalanced too and fell beside her. She heard him giggle. "Open the Pinot Noir!" she ordered him.

"I can't. I'm laughing too hard," he answered. "Besides, I can't find the corkscrew. It's around here somewhere."

Evey crawled around on the carpet looking for the corkscrew. The two empty bottles, the three empty glasses admonished her for being so silly. "Shut up" she said to them, "and tell me where the corkscrew is." The Chardonnay bottle had tipped over when she bumped the table. The neck of the bottle landed on the corkscrew. "Thank you," she said to it, handing the instrument to V. He was fumbling with the Pinot, trying to get the seal off the neck.

"This is not the way to have a wine tasting," he said using both arms on the bottle. Even with one glove off he was having trouble holding it still. Evey laughed again, crawled over to him. "Let me hold the bottle, you ram in the screw." This sounded funny to her and she rolled laughing some more. He laughed so hard he fell over, and the unopened Pinot rolled under the sofa.

"You know you are not supposed to swallow the wine," Evey giggled. "You should know that, V. You are supposed to spit it out."

"No, no," he laughed, "Never! Wine is not made to be spit, damn it. How insulting to the wine to spit it out. Wine is to be savored and drunk. Always," he reached for her arm and pulled her towards him.

"Then you must have gotten smashed at all the wine tastings you went to!" Evey imagined V drunk at some posh party and laughed even harder, gasping as tears ran down her face.

"I did! At every one! And my mates had to carry me back to the flat and dump me. They used to call me…" Evey waited for the punch line. What did they use to call him? It was going to be too funny, she knew. But silence. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes.

"V? What did they…" she allowed the question to fade away. He wasn't laughing any more. He had raised himself to his hands and knees and was still as death. "Are you hurt?" she asked with alarm. The giddiness was gone. Something was wrong. "V?" He did not answer. Evey crawled over to him, lifted his shoulders, pushed him back and sat him there on the floor against the sofa. He let her position him limply like a doll. "V?" She peered into the dark eyeholes of the mask, trying to see him in there, lifted his chin. _Where did you go?_ Her answer was heavy breathing. _He is trying to regain control_. She climbed into his lap, put her hands on either side of the mask and touched her forehead to his. "What's wrong?"

He would not answer, but he put his arms around her and hugged her close. Evey made her mind slow down and behave. It was difficult through the fog of wine. _We were talking about wine tastings, he said he never spit wine, he said he always got drunk at wine tastings, very bad form at posh parties, then his friends had to carry him home…that's it_. She frowned. He had had a memory. For a few moments he had forgotten he was 'V' and forgetting V allowed the other man to surface. Now the other was gone again. _What a shock after so many years_. He was probably struggling to remember the rest and it is all gone. All gone. Tears fell on her cheeks. _He needs a kiss, now. He needs a kiss_. She put her thumbs under the chin of the mask and pushed it up, feeling for his mouth with her own. Her lips touched his chin briefly, before she found herself on the floor, the mask and wig in her hands. Empty. He was gone.

She heard his boots pounding away from her. She shook her head, tried to clear it. She stared at the mask. It was warm in her hands but she could feel it cooling as she held it. A surge of anger and frustration. She hated the mask. She stood unsteadily, leaned against the sofa. She drew back her arm and threw the mask down the hall, listened to it bounce on the flagstones and slide into the opposite wall. She took a wobbly step. _Now I have to go find him_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Where did he go? He went down this way_. She remembered the sound of his boots pounding away from her. Yet he could be in any one of some fifteen rooms. Evey stopped and leaned against the smooth stone wall, catching her breath. _Let me think first rather than running off without a plan. What would he be thinking? He's lost his mask. Oh God, I've unmasked him. He must be truly angry with me. Later, later, I'll think about that later. Now. What will he want? Another mask. Where the hell does he keep them?_ She knew there were three in the drawer of the make-up table. _I know he is not there; I just walked past that table. Where are the others?_ In a storage room. He must have dozens. _Which storage room?_ She pushed off against the wall and staggered down the hall, one hand bracing herself. _How long until this wine buzz wears off?_

The first storage room opened on her left. She stopped for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to dissipate. _This room is dark He could be in here. It would be the first room he would come to and he is as drunk as I am. He can't get too far stumbling about._

"V?" she called. Her voice sounded too loud to her ears. _He won't answer if he's hiding_. _Is he hiding or just getting another mask?_ No answer. Evey pushed the door open, but did not turn on the lights. _If he's hiding I don't want to startle him._ "V? Are you in here?" She listened, heard a scuffing sound in the corner.

"V?" Evey stumbled in the dark against some kind of crate. Stopped. Listened. _He's here._

"Go away, Eve. Go out." He sounded muffled. _He's found another mask_.

Relief. "V. I'm sorry about the mask. I am. I wanted to kiss you so badly. I didn't think. I'm sorry. Please come out. Have some more wine. We can turn on the Wurlitzer. Listen to cheesy torch songs. Come out."

"No. I am finished for the evening." His voice had a hard edge to it, a warning.

Evey didn't listen. She took another tentative step in the darkness. "I'm coming in, I'm coming to get you and bring you out."

"Oh no you are not," he growled.

"I am." She didn't care if she sounded petulant. He wasn't going to push her around. She turned toward the sound of his voice and moved with confidence, stumbling here and there as her shins encountered various storage containers. She honed in on the sound of his breathing.

"Do not come any closer." His voice was very dark. Evey stopped.

"V."

"No. I mean it. I'm not playing with you, Eve. Turn around and GO OUT!"

Evey felt a rush of anger. _You are not my master_. "I will NOT!" she shouted at him. She heard a flurry from the corner, the sounds of boxes and crates crashing to the floor. _Shouting may have been a mistake_, she thought. _Too late_. There was a rush of air and she was struck with great force in her midsection. Evey felt herself fly upwards and land hard. He had scooped her up and thrown her over his shoulder. Now the light hit her eyes as he carried her so ignominiously down the hall, every swift angry step rammed his shoulder into her stomach. _Oh, he is so angry_. She could feel it through the cloth. She put both hands on his back and braced herself so she could see where they were going. He was carrying her down the hall; there goes the dressing table, the piano, the Wurlitzer. _He's taking me to my room. Like I'm a naughty child_. Evey began beating her tiny fists on his backside.

"No! No! No! Don't you dare put me in my room!" It didn't matter. She passed through her door backwards; he spun around and dropped her unceremoniously on her bed. She bounced once before she could see again. She caught a glimpse of him disappearing through the door. Will he lock me in? _No. There are no more locked doors. Besides, he can't lock me in. He can't lock me anywhere_. She lay there, panting on her bed, collecting her thoughts and rubbing the sore spot on her belly. She remembered the day after he had let her out of her cell.

She had come out for some food…she was starving and had probably slept through an entire day. V had been nowhere to be found, and she was glad of it. The kitchen table had been piled with food: fruit of all kinds, crackers, cookies, tins of biscuits, bottles of water and juice and cooling tea in the white teapot. But she did not see the food. The food was nothing. What she saw, Evey remembered, was the pile of metal on the table. A pile twice as high as the food, a pile of locks, door jams, keys, knobs, handles, hinge pins, faceplates and every kind of hardware that can be on a door. He must have been up all night with a screwdriver. There it all was, every internal door in the Gallery had been mutilated. Evey had stared at that pile of metal for an hour while she nibbled her crackers and apples. _Sometimes, just sometimes, this man who is the most eloquent of speakers, cannot find the words he needs_. Eve remembered that pile of metal. He could not have said anything to her that day. She would not have listened to him and he knew it. That pile of metal said it for him.

_Like now_. He cannot speak. _That's it_. Evey got out of the bed and padded to the door. He was gone. _I have to go looking for him again._ She rubbed her sore belly as she backtracked him. Before, he needed a mask. He got his mask. _Now what does he need?_ _To escape?_ _Will he go outside? The tunnels?_ She looked at the door to the tunnels. _No. That one still has its locks. He hasn't gone so loony that he would go out while drunk. He's in here. But where? _

She listened for him, heard a faint "whack". Then another. A regular beating rhythm. _What is he doing?_ She followed the sound, down the hall, down the stair. She realized what he was doing before she even reached the doorway to the exercise room. She stood in the doorway listening to the loud and regular "whacks". His back was to her; he had a sword, and not his foil either, but the big two-handed one. He was whacking everything in the gym, swinging back and forth with both arms, punctuating the blows with the sounds of his exertions. Ah! Whack! Uh! Whack! She could see where he had started at the door and was methodically destroying everything from left to right. She figured she had a few minutes before he reached the opposite side of the room and had to turn and whack his way through the equipment back to her, a few minutes before he would see her standing there. Shouting at him would not stop him. Between the percussion of the strikes and the sounds coming from his throat, he was making too much noise to hear anything. _I will have to wait until he gets tired. No, he won't be tired soon. He has incredible stamina_, _but he'll stop when he sees me here._

She was not afraid. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Not ever again. _I just know_. She waited. _What will I say to him? 'Quit acting like a child?' No. He's not acting like a child. He is acting like a wounded animal_. What does one do with wounded animals? Evey crouched down low in the doorway_. That's what you do. You go low and still. Quiet. Extend your hand…your hand should be in a glove, though. All wounded animals will bite and I have no glove_…_so I guess he will bite me, and so I will get bitten_. _But it won't hurt. He is the one who is hurt._

She waited. She watched as foam and vinyl exploded around him as he hacked away at the mats. He came around the apex of the room and saw her there as he turned. She watched as he froze, seeing her, his arm extended, the long heavy sword parallel to the floor. Sudden silence. Bits of foam drifted to the ground around him. Evey waited. _He can't get out except through me. Give me your worst, V. I've already seen it._ She waited. The sword dropped with a clang.

"Get out!" he shouted at her.

"No. You can't be rid of me!" she shouted back. She waited for his response, but he did not answer. He was panting with the exertion. She could hear him breathing hard; see his shoulders heaving_. He is thinking now._ _He wants out. He wants out_. _Sure enough, like a blur he is coming_. Evey braced herself for the impact. The blow came like a thunderbolt. She was again snatched up and thrown over his back. She grabbed his doublet with both hands as she came down over his head and tried to keep the point of his shoulder out of her middle. She could breathe this time because she was ready. He was making for the stairs so quickly she could feel a breeze. _How many times can he put me in my room?_ She kicked her feet and pounded him. He just gripped her tighter. She screamed at him. "Put me down!" He didn't even break stride. Evey made her plans. _When he passes through my door I will let go and be ready. When he throws me on the bed I will bounce up and grab at him. He will not get away this time_.

But he passed by her door. _Where is he taking me?_ They were not moving toward the tunnels, but deeper into the Gallery. Evey pushed on his back to get a better look. They passed through another hall, then another door, then she realized with horror exactly where he was taking her. "NO!" she screamed. "Don't you fucking dare! Don't you even think of putting me in there!" She writhed and squirmed with all her muscles, but she was no match for him. One of his arms was enough to keep her pinned to him like a butterfly. Rage colored her vision. She screamed again, a piercing blood-curdling cry that echoed off the stones of the hall. He stumbled. She screamed again, and he lurched against the wall. He stopped. Held her, his breath loud and ragged as he gasped for air. Evey saw her cell gaping open before her. _He had better not put me in there. _

He didn't. He couldn't. Where all the other rooms in the Gallery were missing their locks and handles, this room was missing its entire door. He must have forgotten that he had dismantled it. _His plan is foiled. There is just a hole there_. Even without a door Evey could not dispel the dread that crept over her like ice. _How could he even think of it?_

He went down to the floor. He went down on his knees, still gripping her tightly, though she had ceased to struggle. Then he sat and put her on his lap, inches from the seam on the floor that marked the threshold of that cell.

He was quiet, catching his breath, unmoving. Evey waited. She wiggled just a tiny bit to test him and he responded with a tightening of his viselike grip on her limbs. _Very well then. I am your prisoner. Again. What else is there? He is going to have to come to terms with this. He can't keep putting me away. Soon he will run out of rooms to put me in. He is trying to compartmentalize me. Like this Gallery; designed with separate compartments. He designed it like his mind. That's it. _Evey realized what was happening.

Like everything, he was trying to fit her into his idea of his self. _I don't fit, so he cannot contend with me. He can put me here, he can put me there, but he doesn't have a peg to hang me on. He can't rationalize the way he feels. _Her anger melted away. She relaxed. _What can I say to him? He is bigger. He is stronger. I cannot match him physically, but I am not helpless. I have something he cannot take away from me. Words. Words will penetrate the fog that is clouding his brain now_. _He loves his words_. _What words can I use? What can I say to him? What will break this pattern? _Months of study with him had filled her mind with possibilities.

Marlowe? "Nature doth teach us all…" _No, this isn't about teaching._

Milton? "What need a man to forestall his date of grief, and run to meet what he would most avoid?" _Maybe. He is running from what he dare not face_.

Keats? "My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense." _Possibly. This goes for both of us._

Shelley? "The loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains…"_ Yes, that is a good one_.

Shakespeare? "His unkindness may defeat my life, but never taint my love."

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh no_. Evey lay limp in his arms. _This is it. I know the words. I know the only words that will work._

She took a small breath and said quietly, "I love you."

He broke. Great racking sobs.

He opened his arms and she rolled onto the floor in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Evey lay on the cold floor for a moment, listening to him weep. Slowly, very slowly, she sat up and faced him. He was bent double, on his knees, his hands over his ears, fingers intermingled in his hair as though he could block out all sound. The sound of what? Her words or his sobs? Evey reached out to touch him, but brought her hand back before she could make contact. _I'd best be very careful_. He rocked back and forth, gasping now_. It feels as though he could shatter with a touch_. Evey waited until his breathing told her he had calmed. She moved closer, put her hands on his and gently brought them away from his ears. Only then could she speak and know he would hear. "V."

"No," he whispered. "No."

"I love you. It is true."

"No. You can't love me. There is no one under here to love. Just flesh holding up the mask."

"There is someone here, because I'm holding him now." She put her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. See?"

"No, just the fragments of someone long dead."

_Then I will love a fragment_.

_All his coverings, all the leather all the porcelain, all the silk can hide him from me. Can hide everything but his ears. This is where I will start_. Evey put her mouth next to his ear. "How much of you do I need?" She combed the hair back with her fingers. "Just the last inch," she whispered.

"You don't understand."

"Oh, you are so wrong." Evey took his gloves and put them around her waist. "Hold me while I show you." She felt him obey, the gloves touching her softly where minutes ago he had cruelly seized her.

"Look what you've been doing. This evening started out so well. You lost yourself in the very real pleasures of wine and soft music, soft candlelight and a woman. What put an end to that?"

"I remembered something."

"That should have made you happier."

He blew air out the mask holes, it whistled and whooshed. He bent his head to touch hers. "I have to tell you something, Evey."

"Yes," she whispered into his ear.

"About my memory."

"Yes."

"And about the gym."

"Yes."

"I'm really sorry about the gym."

"It's your stuff. You can smash it up if you want. But if you had gone down to the Lab…now that would have been different. I would definitely have gotten out." She waited for him to laugh at her joke. He didn't.

He sighed deeply, tucked his chin to his chest. "I have to tell you. You may have noticed. It's very likely… that I am not entirely stable."

Evey bit her tongue to keep from responding too quickly. She made sure her voice was steady before she answered him. Slowly. Carefully. "Yes. I have noticed. There are the bombs, the murders, this cell…" she let the words drift away from her. _There can be no sugarcoating this particular topic_. '_Not entirely stable.' No, we are on shaky ground, indeed._

"And the memories," he continued.

"Yes?"

"They are all gone."

"We don't need them." Evey stroked his hair.

"And the mask…"

"We don't need that either." She touched the hard edge of it with her thumbs, slipped her fingers under the elastic.

"I need it." His gloves came up and covered her hands.

"Then you shall keep it, but then how will you kiss me?"

"Ah." A long slow sigh.

Evey waited. He paused too long. She prompted him as softly as she could, "Don't you _want_ to kiss me?" She asked.

"Oh, I…" He moved her off his lap and lurched to his feet, pulling her up with him. She watched him look back towards the Gallery and then down the hall, his hair swinging back and forth as he turned his head. "Too much light in here," he murmured.

Evey frowned. Yes, there was some light from the open doorway leading to the Gallery, but it was fairly dark where they were. She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but before she could speak she was lifted off her feet and carried over the threshold of her cell into absolute darkness.

It was cooler inside and smelled vaguely of disinfectant and dust. There was no light at all in the deeper shadows behind the open doorway. She put her hands on his arms, trusting him. _What are you doing_? He pressed her against the darkest wall; she felt the hard cinderblocks rough against her shoulder blades. One glove disappeared from her arm momentarily; she heard a soft sound above her head and the smack of the mask as it hit the floor. Then something warm touched her cheek. She held herself perfectly still_. He is touching his cheek to mine_. _It is smooth, like silk_. She could feel the wisps of his wig on her face, his warm breath on her skin. She moved her hands from his arms to circle them around his waist and pull him closer. _Kiss me_.

She tipped her chin up, waiting for him. She felt his lips on the side of her mouth and the point of his nose above them, pressing into her cheekbone. She turned her head to catch those lips with her own. He took her bottom lip into his mouth, sucked gently before moving his lips over hers. He tasted like sweet wine and salt. _Salt? Oh yes, the tears. _She kissed back with all her heart. He responded immediately by pressing his whole body against hers, leaning into that cold wall, his arms around her tightly. He smelled so warmly of exertion, breathing wine on her and squeezing like he could pull her completely inside him. _This is not an idea. This is a man_. The very real proof lay pressed like an iron rod against her stomach.

Evey slid both hands down, feeling the curve of his back and over the swell of his hips, pulled him closer, pressed him harder against her. He groaned, but did not release her lips. She felt him sway. _His knees are giving out. We should not be standing up_. She pulled him down gently. As she took him all the way to the floor, he never once lost command of her mouth until she had him kneeling in front of her.

"Hmmm," she tried to break free so she could tell him he was crushing her. He only gripped her harder, his mouth moving hungrily over her lips, then her cheek then her temples, eyes and hair. "V," she breathed, when her mouth was her own again, "You are crushing me." He did not answer, but he did pull her away from the wall and lay her down on the hard floor, cradling her head in the arm he used to brace himself against the ground.

"Is this better?" he asked, though he did not wait for an answer, covering her mouth with his as though even those few words were too many to waste using his tongue to speak. He had another use for it now. Evey could barely breathe. No part of her face was safe from his lips. When he had finished with her mouth he began on her cheek, his tongue and his warm lips working their way across to the bridge of her nose and to her eyelids.

Instead of the simple maskless kiss she had imagined, she had opened the door to something she had not given herself time to imagine. Low in his throat he growled and hummed noises that increased in volume as he made his way across her body, consuming her like a hungry animal. He finished with her face and began on her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, then his hands pushed the camisole up and soon her breasts were his targets.

_And_ _I asked him if he wanted to kiss me…_

She felt him pause a moment, felt a tug behind her head, then there was a slap on the floor beside her. His hand quickly returned to her breast without a glove. This was a different feeling. The soft leather had been nice, but his hand was smooth and warm, the scars soft, the ridges supple. She arched her back as one breast nearly disappeared in his mouth while the other was engulfed in his hand. She had been about to suggest they move to a more comfortable place in the Gallery, but that thought dissolved in a sea of pleasure. She wanted him now. The hour of wine, the hour of fighting and now the hour of love. She writhed beneath his arm as his mouth moved between her breasts. She reached down, fumbling in the dark, reaching for him, touching the silk, part of her mind clouded with the waves of pleasure he was creating with his lips on her skin, the other part hungry for more. Hungry for what lay beneath the silk. When she found it, her grip made him stop kissing her. His mouth came off her breasts and the cool air hit the wet spot on her nipples causing a shudder and a sudden matching wet spot between her legs. Evey made a soft disappointed sound. She moved her hand, stroking him, letting him know that she wanted him now.

"Not in here," he said between breaths. "Not here in Hell."

"Yes, here in Hell," she answered. " Right now. I am in Hell and will be until I feel you inside me." She raised her head trying to find his mouth again in the dark, homing in on him from the sound of his breathing, clutching at him with both hands, filling her hands with bunches of silk, pulling at his clothing, and reaching for the fasteners. She felt overcome there in the darkness with the wild thought that she must connect with him or he would disappear. There was nothing but sound and smell and touch. Maybe he was right. Maybe there wasn't anyone beneath the mask. She came up off the ground, pulled her panties off and tossed them into the gloom. She tried to pull him over on top of her. But he was too big and too strong. He sat back. Pulling her off the floor instead. She reached for him, her searching hands touched the mask. _No. No._ He had put it back on. The gloves were back on. _No. I don't want to go. I don't want this to stop._

She felt his glove as he took her hand. The disembodied voice floated over her. "Not here. Let's go." He made a move to stand, and tried to pull her up with him.

"No, she said to him. "I want you now; this is not about thinking. This is about feeling." She pulled down hard, keeping him on the floor, and pressed him against the wall this time. She let her hands walk up his chest and put them around his neck. She straddled his body with her legs, put her face in his ear, brushing the silky hair out of her mouth. "Now." She knew where the naked parts were, beneath his ear where the corner of his jaw met his neck above his collar. She put her mouth in that spot and sucked long and hard, using her tongue and gnawing at him with her teeth. She was rewarded with a shudder that shook his entire body. Encouraged, she slipped her hand lower into his lap and fumbled there in the dark, not letting him forget her mouth at his throat.

_He will soon forget that he wanted to leave._

She found what she wanted, he jerked back against the wall when she took him in her hand. She bit him ever so softly on the neck as she freed him from his trousers. He moaned and lifted his hips to fill her hand. She nuzzled her face into his neck. It would be up to him to take the mask off again if he wanted a kiss. She stroked and stopped, stroked and stopped, teasing him until he reached the point where there could be no decision to leave. She doubted he could walk at this point. Already he was making soft sounds under the mask and squeezing her where he held her, one hand on either side of her hips, letting her know rhythmically how he wanted her to stroke him. She heard him breathing hard in the dark, but he made no effort to remove the mask again. Eve paused, timed herself carefully, and as he brought his hips up to meet the expected stroke, she rose up on her knees and came down slowly over him.

He reacted immediately, clutching at her and gasping, leaning forward from the wall. "Eve," he breathed. Evey held on tightly as he arched his back. "Oh god," he moaned. "Not here, not here." She did not answer him with words, but began to move. She put her hands on his shoulders and rocked back and forth, stroking him inside her.

_I will make him forget where he is._

But too soon her own pleasure distracted her from her task. She could hear him respond to her rhythm, but found she had forgotten where _she_ was, for as his pleasure increased so did the hardness inside her. His hands on her tightened as she moved, his breathing in her ears louder, rasping against the mask as her rhythm increased. She felt that shimmering wave beginning inside her, she was not going to be able to slow down, as already that wave was cresting. He must have known, he must feel it too, for he took her hips in his gloves and moved her in sync with his groans.

Evey reached out blindly in the darkness, she had to clutch something solid as that wave of pleasure crashed within her. She clutched at a handful of his doublet, balling the silk in her fists as she rode his hips to orgasm. She opened her mouth to let him know that every thrust beneath her was strumming her from bottom to top, she cried out her ecstasy. As the sound left her throat a huge swell from within her corresponded with a roar from his chest. She felt him shudder, clutching at her body and pressing her hips down on him, rising to thrust once, twice more with a desperate force that nearly knocked her senseless. He gasped, panting in the darkness. After a moment he replaced his fierce grip on her with a soft caress. "Oh god, Evey, oh no," he twitched one last time beneath her. Evey leaned forward to place her head on his chest and listened to his heart. _I love him so much._

"Oh, Eve. I didn't want the first time to be in here," he murmured into her hair.

"There will be many first times," she answered. "The first time on the sofa, the first time in the lab, the first time in the hall, the first time…" He laughed low and deep, rumbling under her ear. She felt his glove on her back, caressing her in long strokes from her waist to her neck.

"You are a treasure," he said.

Evey smiled in the darkness, moved to lift herself off him. "We can go now, if you like."

"I would."

She pulled away carefully, mindful of the complicated connection that linked their nether regions. Her skirt, his trousers and the twists and fasteners that moments before had not existed, now bit and pinched. She braced herself against his shoulders, then felt for him to help him stand. She listened with a wicked grin to the shuffling sounds as he tried to fix his pants. _It is little things like that that make him real_. When he was ready he took her hand and they emerged together from her cell.

Evey looked up at him. Tried to see him in a different light. _Does he look different now? Now that I have made him mine?_ He was not looking at her, but ahead, leading her out of that hateful corridor and into the golden light of the Gallery. He was practically dragging her by the hand. As the light improved she was tickled to see how disheveled he was. His wig was askew, the mask crooked, and the doublet completely ruined. _He will need to replace this one_. The only thing on him that looked undamaged was his boots, and even they had a few more scuffmarks than she remembered. _He does look different, and I don't mean the clothing_. His shoulders moved differently as he walked. _Because they are mine, and I've had my body all over them._ The taper from his shoulders to his waist and the way the doublet fanned out over his hips. All different. _My hands have been there_. _Making love to him in the dark has robbed me of the visuals that are so important. I have to see them now, afterwards_. She looked up at him as they passed through the last doorway. _Where are we going now?_

He led her out into the main room, headed toward the sofa. _Oh, yes. Let us pick up where we left off. _She felt a little thrill. They walked past the piano; Evey was already imagining her next glass of wine. _The Pinot this time. We'll get that corkscrew_.

He stopped. She crashed up against him. He spun her around in front of him, looking back at the piano. _What? Time for music? The Wurlitzer has been on random play all evening. No. What is he thinking?_ There was no time for more speculation. V turned, put both gloves on her waist just above her hips and lifted her easily into the air. He set her down on top of the piano, her legs swinging over the edge. "What are you doing?" she asked. He did not answer, but held her in place with his left hand while he unfastened his trousers with the other. "What?" He pushed her back so she was lying flat on the high gloss of the piano cover. She heard a thrum as the hammers beneath her vibrated ever so slightly on the strings, like a chord from deep underground. She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, a pause, then he entered her.

He was as hard as he had been the first time. _He's going do it on the piano?_ Above her she could only see the ceiling, the chandelier glittering in the candlelight. When she tried to lift her head to look at him, another thrust sent her head bouncing back to the piano lid, and the thrumming of the strings sounded loud in her ear. _He is. I can't believe this. _She lay there patiently, waiting for him to finish. It was too soon after her last orgasm to feel anything but sore and damp, but the novelty of the situation was enough to amuse her. _This is a man who has not gotten any in twenty years. Let him have as much as he wants._ His thrusts shook her, the piano strings vibrated with a musical hum and at last he was finished. He had made not a sound the entire time. Only the piano had responded with the eerie thrumming. She felt the cool air between her legs as he withdrew. She rolled to her elbow to watch him put himself together. She smiled at him. "That was a ménage a trois, wasn't it," she said to him. "You just fucked your piano."

"I've been wanting to do that for more than ten years," he agreed. She heard the laughter in his voice. He extended both arms toward her and she took them. He lifted her up and set her on her feet, brushing her skirt down with his glove and straightening her camisole. Evey looked back at the piano.

"Is she jealous?" She asked him.

"Terribly," he answered. "Too bad." He took her hand and led her to the Picture Gallery. Evey had looked at every painting in the Gallery. She wondered what he was up to.

He led her to the Lady of Shallot. He stood behind her, positioned her facing the painting, a glove on either shoulder.

"The Lady of Shallot," Evey said. "Waterhouse, isn't it?"

"Very good. Yes."

"You want to show it to me?" She asked. _We have discussed this painting, and Tennyson's poem before_. He did not answer her, so she stood there patiently, looking at the sad young woman in the boat. _This time is for him. I'll do whatever he needs me to do. _After a few minutes she glanced backwards at him. He was looking at the painting too. She took a step away to move in front of the Turner landscape, to look at that one, but a glove on her shoulder steered her back to the Waterhouse. _What now?_ Then she understood. He wasn't showing her the painting. He was showing her _to_ the painting. Like he had shown her to the piano. She sighed as tears welled up in her eyes. _He's introducing me to his friends. Twenty years. Twenty years he has been here alone_. The weight of those years seemed to crush her and she imagined the series of days going by, from the very beginning when he must have been so confused, his physical wounds not healed, his mind in pieces. It is amazing he survived. Amazing what he had accomplished. Amazing what he has yet to do. The tears came faster and she did not try to stop them. She put her hands up over her face and wept for him. She felt his gloves squeeze her shoulders. He turned her and pressed her face into his chest.

"Don't weep for me, Evey," he said, knowing. "No pity."

"Can't help it," she sobbed. "When I think of you here all alone for so long…"

"Should I weep for you, too, then? A child? Your whole family gone? Put in an institution, forced to work? Every life has its tragedies. Let's not think about them now."

Evey wiped her eyes. _I need a shower._ "I need a shower, V. So do you."

"Well said. A fresh start then. You go first. You take the longest."


	4. Chapter 4

Adagio 4

Rated R

* * *

Evey rubbed her head with the towel, then tossed it over the back of the chair. Her door was open and she could hear the shower on down the hall. They had passed each other just minutes before. She had come out, a towel wrapped around her body and one around her head. He had gone in, bowing to her as she stepped aside for him. Always before he had emerged from somewhere fully dressed, immaculate, brushed and smooth and flawless. _The way you behave when you have guests in your house._ And Evey had tried to emulate his manners, always commandeering the bathroom only when he was gone, so he wouldn't be inconvenienced. This was the first subtle change. That they could meet each other outside the bathroom, both in the state of dishevelment and not apologize or exchange polite denials.

_This is how lovers behave_. She leaned over the desk and peered into the mirror. _Do I look different, too? How does he see me now?_ She shook her head, unwound her towel and let it join the other on the chair. _What shall I wear?_ She opened the top drawer and began flipping through her things. _What are we doing? Are we on a date? Is it time for pajamas? A nightgown?_ The next thought made her stop, a pair of silky panties in her hand. _Will he be sleeping here tonight?_ Evey turned and looked at the bed behind her. _His bed_. There was no reason to have two bedrooms in the Shadow Gallery. Or two bathrooms either. She wasn't really sure where he had been sleeping all this time. She never saw him asleep, he was always awake and dressed when she dragged herself out of bed each morning, yawning. Grumpy until she had her tea. _Will it be up to me to invite him? Invite him into his own room? How strange will that seem to him?_ _I've displaced him enough. Would he sleep here?_ She put the panties back in the drawer. _Or is he finished with me?_ She smiled, remembering the piano. _Twice in one night. He's finished_. She picked the panties up again. Evey held them out and lifted her foot to put her leg through them. _But he's V_. Her leg froze in mid air_. Twice might not be anything to him_. She put her foot back down. _I really have no idea. Oh, bloody hell_. She tossed the panties back in the drawer. _Better safe than sorry_. _No panties_.

Evey pulled out her black silk nightgown and slid it over her head wiggled so that it fell its full length to her heels. Looked in the mirror again. _This gown is out of some 1940's film noir._ _This will say it all to him. Me and a nightgown. That is all_.

A dark shape blocked the light from her doorway. Evey turned. _Oh, look at him_. She smiled. He almost looked shy standing there, half obscured by her door. He had done away with the Jacobean dress and was wearing a black silk kimono with a Mandarin collar, belted at the waist, the hem touching the floor. She looked down. What does he wear on his feet when the boots are off? Of course. Black socks. The ever-present gloves were still there as was the mask and the wig. He was completely covered, yet looked so undressed. Evey held out her hand to him and her drew her out into the hall.

"Bon soir," he said in an appreciative voice as he looked her up and down.

_He likes the nightie. He should. He gave it to me. _She curtsied, holding the yards of shimmering fabric out to her sides.

"Oh…" his voice was as silky as her gown. "I haven't seen you in that before."

"And I can say the same." Evey straightened from her curtsey and ran a hand over his arm, feeling the hard muscles under the kimono's soft silk. "A silk fetish, have we?" she teased.

"Maybe not a fetish," he answered tucking her hand into his elbow and steering her into the Gallery. "Silk doesn't hurt."

She looked up sharply. "Hurt?"

"Some material can be painful, silk doesn't hurt," he repeated, "but perhaps I can encourage a different topic."

Evey took the hint. "Where are you taking me?"

"Back to the start. I believe we lost a fine Pinot under the sofa."

She laughed softly. Yes, under the sofa. It seemed like it was weeks ago, but really just a few hours.

He sat her down, put a glass in her hand. She watched him bend down to retrieve the bottle and insert the corkscrew. The candles were nearly spent. Half of them had burned out; the larger ones were merely globs of wax in their holders. She thought about whether she should relight or extinguish. It would be up to him. It was his turn now. Or was it? She thought back. He took her in the cell, she took him in the cell, he knocked her back on the piano, she suggested the showers, he suggested the sofa. So it is my turn. She got up; put her glass down on the table.

His head came up fast, making his hair fly around the mask. "Where are you going?"

_He's still a little edgy, poor darling_. Evey touched his shoulder. "Finish opening the wine and pour it. I'm going to set the mood." She left him, picking up the largest candle and setting it on the table behind the sofa where it would light him from behind. She moved through the main hall, extinguishing the lights as she went. The Wurlitzer gave off quite a glow, but it was far enough away from the sofa to appear soft and muted. She leaned over the glass, reading. _I know it's in here. I heard it a few days ago. There_. _Barber's Adagio for Strings_. She pressed the buttons, waited for the whirr and the click. The sound of the violins unfolded around her, the sad slow strings of that haunting melody enveloped her. She glanced into the other room. _Do you hear this?_ He did. He was watching her. Waiting.

She gave the room a final look as she returned to him, judging the temperature, the soft glow from the candles, the timbre of the music. Perfect. She swirled the silk around her legs as she floated back onto the cushions and took the glass from his fingers. _I am ready._

The wine was sweet, tasted faintly of cherries and had not suffered from being under the sofa for a few hours. She finished hers, held the glass out for a refill. He poured, set the bottle back down. Picked up his glass again. She waited. He made no move to drink it, did not turn, did not move the mask. Just sat there staring at his knees

"V?" He looked up. "Are you going to have some?" she asked.

"It occurs to me that drinking wine might not be the best thing for me at the moment." He swirled the glass absently. "The wine seems to have been a catalyst for some unpleasant behavior."

"As well as some very pleasant behavior. We take the good with the bad. Drink just one glass, then. It will relax you." He nodded. Turned away and took a drink obediently, the mask's white face lying on top of his head. He turned back to her after replacing the mask, the wine half gone. "Did you like it?"

"It is delicious."

"Good." Evey noted the awkward silence. She suppressed a sigh. What is he really thinking? He was sitting up very straight, his back like a soldier's. _Tense, then_. He was breathing slowly and rhythmically, _so… not upset_. She looked at his shoulders, his arms…_he's_ _sitting very still_. _That usually means he's thinking hard_. Her eyes slid down his arm to his hand where he was cradling the Pinot between two fingers. _Oh_. Inside the glass an earthquake was rumbling. Concentric rings of pink wine made tiny tsunamis crash against the curved glass. _His hands are shaking. _

Evey could not suppress the next sigh. _What do I do? I am not a professional. I will have to wait until tomorrow to read his psychology books. I know he has some because I keep finding them on my dressing table. _She blinked_. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Oh, for all that is holy. He's been putting them on my dressing table for the last few weeks and I've been diligently putting them back on the bookshelves when I tidy up. _She shuddered. She remembered that the book on schizophrenia appeared rather worn, like it had been desperately thumbed through more than once. Evey set down her empty glass.

"V." She took his little glass of stormy pink sea and set it next to hers. "We can talk about this if you like."

"About what?"

"About this." She picked up her folds of gown and moved into his lap. She found that she liked it there very much, especially with her arm around his shoulders and the other holding his hand to her waist.

"Hmmmm," he bent his head and stroked her thigh with his free hand. "You are so soft."

"You have had a few shocks tonight."

"Yes."

"And I worry that you aren't…recovering from them."

"I've recovered from far worse. Much worse. Don't worry about me. Just because you weren't around to see it at the time doesn't mean I didn't heal. You can't imagine, Evey, so don't try."

He was right. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume. It's just pains me to see you…"

"To see me what?"

"Unhappy."

"You think I am unhappy?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well…"

He shook his head. "Eve. You've lived here nearly a year. You think you know me so well. You have no idea…"

Evey felt tears well up. _This is not the way the conversation is supposed to be going_.

"Don't cry. Shhhh. Don't cry." He ran a gloved thumb across her cheek. "I'm not unhappy. Look at you. You are the one who is unhappy. Aren't you? Have I disappointed you? Did I hurt you in there?" he asked with a twinge of alarm in his voice. Evey tried to answer but only little gasping sobs came out. He hugged her tighter. "It is an emotional night for both of us," he murmured into her hair. "We need to lay off the wine." She nodded. "What do you want now, Eve. What will dry the tears? Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"I want to kiss you some more," she whispered.

"What a delightful request." Evey saw him look around, gauging the light. "You will never see me, Eve, no matter what." He leaned forward and put a gloved finger on the wick of each of the candles one after the other until they were all out except the one behind him. The faint light faded to a murky darkness, the lone candle casting moving shadows on the walls.

She frowned. "It's not that I want to…" she was lying and she knew it.

"No?" His hand came up and the mask came off. She could see his arm and this hand, but his face was in shadow, and his hair fell forward, hiding his cheek from her. "It is best for both of us if you don't. I'm asking you, Eve. Don't touch the mask again. Let me be the one to take it off and put it on. Do you understand me?"

Evey did. He was telling her where the line was. "I understand."

He moved her easily into his other arm, setting her head on the soft cushions on the back of the sofa and bent over her. She found she had to close her eyes anyway to savor the exquisite feeling of his soft lips on hers. She felt him removing his gloves, heard them drop lightly to the floor, then felt his smooth hands in her body, running across her ribs to end with a gentle squeeze on the silk that covered her breasts. He smelled faintly of soap and the lavender from the sachets he keeps in all the drawers. She breathed him in with a sigh, snaking her arms around his ribs and bringing her hands up on his back, holding him. She felt so safe, so right, as though from now on not having him next to her would feel like she was merely waiting, in a limbo of expectation. She could only really live in those moments when he was pressed against her. And one of those moments was now.

When his lips moved to her throat she asked him, "Can I touch you here?" She brought a hand up and touched him lightly on the back of his neck, under the soft wig hair

"Mmmmm," he answered. Evey took that as a yes, played her fingers in his hair, touching his neck and loosening the silk collar. His mouth moved into the corner of her jaw and he nibbled softly on the tender skin that covered her throat. A thrill shimmered down her spine, connecting her throat with her clitoris. She could not stop herself from jerking her hips a little as that electric spark opened the floodgates. He felt her move and responded by using his teeth in that same spot on her neck. She had to squirm now, gasping for air, amazed at how easy it was for him to turn her to jelly.

She breathed, "Oh, you are killing me."

He brought his mouth off her neck, nuzzled her ear. "Then this is the most enchanting murder I have ever committed." Evey shuddered, remembering now exactly who was making love to her. She felt one twinge of doubt, but that soon faded away in a wave of pleasure as he returned his mouth to her body, leaving only a small regret at her unfortunate choice of words.

His hands explored where his mouth could not go, he moved her easily here and there on his lap, over the cushions, positioning her as he willed to get at one spot on her body, then another. Evey eventually found herself on her back, his larger form hovered over her, emanating heat and musk and warm breath scented with cherry wine as he worked his mouth on her face. She realized there could be no mere kissing. Their love was still too raw, too new. They had been in a desert and now, as the fresh cool water of love was offered, they must drink their fill or die. The danger of drowning was very real, but Evey breathed in the elixir from his mouth and scattered any thoughts of restraint.

She gripped his back, then allowed her hands progress down as far as she could reach along the silk of his robe. _He is so much bigger; I can't put my hands where I want them_. She moaned her frustration, pinned under his chest, her hands limited by the geography of his body to his chest and shoulders. As each stirring bite on her skin sent a message to that single point between her legs, she felt a desperate need to feel him there. She wriggled, pushing him away with a feeble effort. He stopped kissing her, smoothed back her hair from her forehead. "What is it?" he whispered.

"I want to feel you," she said, "I am trapped under you, I can't reach you." The words spilled out as she squeezed his arms.

"I'm not finished yet," he said. "You'll have to wait."

"No, no, no," Evey complained, "You have to let me love you too."

"You'll get your turn. Now I am enjoying something that I have been dreaming of for many months. He kissed her mouth, "And you cannot stop me." He was right. She could do nothing to stop him. Nothing except, perhaps…


	5. Chapter 5

Adagio--Part 5 

Rated R for sex 

* * *

Evey said, "Take me to your bedroom." She listened in the dark; she felt she could hear him think. He chuckled, and then pulled back, standing beside the sofa. In one swift movement he had her in his arms and was striding away. He pressed her face into his shoulder as he passed by the Wurlitzer, its garish light a real threat, but easily averted. She felt the muscles of his body ripple against her as he moved. He was like iron under his robe. Evey made a happy sound in her throat.

He laid her gently on the bed, then went back and adjusted the door. She watched him silhouetted against the yellow light that emanated from the Wurlitzer in the Gallery. She hoped he wouldn't close it all the way, and he didn't. A shaft of golden light drew a line on the floor from the door to the wall. It was just enough to create forms in the darkness. Nothing more. _I am satisfied with this_, she told herself. _I can be nearly blind for him, as long as I have my other senses._

He came back to her, pulling the bedclothes down, exposing the sheets, lifting her and positioning her on the pillows when he was finished. Evey waited, relaxed and limp. It was her idea to come in here, but it was obvious he had a plan for what he was going to do now he was here. The thought that he might have been writing this scene in his mind for months made her smile in the dark. Even so, she was not ready for what came next.

Evey felt the mattress dip as he climbed into the bed with her. She opened her arms to gather him to her, but he was not there. He was below her, between her legs. Instead of his mouth on her face, she felt his hands on her ankles. "V?"

"Hold still," he said. His voice was deep and husky, almost ominous. She shivered a little. She felt him slide his hands up her legs, pushing the silk folds of her nightgown up to her breasts. A moment later his mouth was on the soft mound of her belly, his teeth teasing her skin with love bites. Evey drew in her breath sharply as he explored her belly button with is tongue. At the same time his fingers roamed over her breasts, lightly tapping her nipples. His mouth meandered across her body, dropping lower in precise increments as he nibbled and licked his way toward his destination. Evey trembled. She could guess what was going to happen next, she knew that some men liked to pleasure women that way, but none of the men she had known had ever made the offer. She had no way of deducing what it might feel like. She brought her knees up, squirming in anticipation. His mouth was getting close, closer. He breathed with a low humming sound she had come to know meant he was lost in the experience. He made that sound when he was listening to music, when he was painting, and when he was playing his piano. Now he was playing her, and the humming grew more intense as he found what he was looking for. Evey arched her back as his lips touched her clit. He then held her down with strong arms on her hips as he burrowed into her cleft with his tongue, dancing it around that little piece of flesh and making her whimper with the agony of her arousal.

He circled it with his tongue, warm and wet. Evey gasped, pressing the back of her head into her pillow. Nothing had prepared her for the ripples of scintillating shocks that flowed up and down her spine, radiating out to each of her limbs with electric pulses of ecstasy. It was too much to bear and she heard herself crying out for him to stop, she was dying of pleasure. Her cries were of no avail, for as soon as he heard her moan, he intensified his attack, sucking and pulling on her clitoris in syncopated rhythm. Evey fought back by bucking her hips and gasping for him to stop stop stop. A warm vibration had begun to slowly spread out from his lips, encompassing her lower spine, building in intensity and threatening to overpower her senses. The room contracted inwards until there was nothing but her clitoris, his mouth and her thighs. She heard a cry echo in the room before she realized it had come from her own throat. He responded to her desperate noises, not with mercy, but by moving his hands from her hips to her nipples and touching them lightly in time with the thrusts of his tongue. This combination was too much and Evey arched her back, bringing her hips up, pressing them into his face. An explosion of pleasure erupted from the epicenter of his mouth and spread with absolute force along her arms, her legs and up her spine to finish with a spectacular climax. She screamed, squeezing her legs together, the intensity creating a feeling of flight. He pulled his mouth away, and the cold air merely stabbed at her clitoris with a final push of bliss. She groaned and rolled over, pressing her legs together to keep him out. He hummed some more, rubbed her bottom as it rolled up. "I didn't know you were a screamer," he said.

"Oh god, oh god oh god," she breathed, "I didn't know either."

She lay there on her side, dazed, the entire middle of her body on fire. She blinked. He bent over her head and kissed her hair over her ear. She smelled her own musky scent mixed with the man and lavender that he exuded. She gripped the pillow. "Where? How? V, Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, breathless, incredulous, sated.

"I wish I knew," he answered sadly.

Evey felt a stab of wicked jealousy, followed almost immediately by a hot wave of shame, then grief. Someone somewhere was missing him, grieving for him. He was lost to that woman forever, and not just because the Fingermen had taken him away from her, but even now, he could pass her on the street and not know her. _She is not my rival_, Evey thought, _she is my sister_.

She rolled over onto her back and faced him. "Now, for you..."

He laughed. "Don't you want a break first? Open that amazing Champagne I promised you?"

"No, no Champagne. I want to save that. Maybe the rest of the Pinot. I really liked the flavor."

"Your wish is my command." He pulled back and disappeared. The light in the room grew brighter for a moment, then dimmed again as he returned with the wine. Two glasses, she noticed. _He is ready to relax now._

He poured in the dark and they drank, silent. Words useless. Evey looked at him as she tipped her glass to her lips, tried to see him. He was careful to sit with his back to the feeble light that trickled in from the door. The wig created even more shadow on his face.

"What now?" He asked.

"_You_ are now." Evey drained the glass and set it behind the headboard. He loomed large in front of her, and easy target. She took his empty glass and pushed him down on the blankets. He lay there in easy expectancy, her willing captive. She put his glass away and felt the edges of his robe, the silk sash belted at his middle. _Will he let me touch his body?_ She ran her finger down the edges of the kimono, testing him. He did not move to stop her. She pulled at the simple knot at his waist and opened the robe feeling with her hands what she could not see.

The warm smooth flesh she had expected, his scars not as pronounced here. One day he would tell her what had happened, but not tonight. Her fingers delighted in the bumps and ridges of the muscles of his abdomen, her searching hands moved up his chest, looking for his nipples. Found them. Touched them, delighted in the rumble her touch elicited from his throat. She leaned over his chest, dipped her head and took a nipple in her mouth.

"Ah," he moaned and brought his knees up. Evey held on, nibbled the other one. She searched through the folds of his robe, lower and lower. Found what she was looking for. "Hmm," he said, caressing her arm. "What are you going to do to me, now that you have me?" he murmured in honey tones.

"I am going to work my will upon you," she said with a smile in her voice. Turnabout is fair play." He exhaled a little laugh, brought a hand up to stroke her cheek in the darkness. Evey brought the palm to her lips, kissing it. Then she turned her attention to her captive.

It filled her hand, hard and hot against her fingers. She went down, settled herself alongside him, and explored it. Evey took him in her mouth, just the end, testing his sensitivity. After all, this was the third time tonight. _How much can he take?_ She was rewarded with a long low groan as he stretched himself out to his full length on the bed. She had to slide along to follow him, but she retained her contact, stroking the shaft as she pulled gently on the head with her lips. She heard him breathing, faster now, and with sharp inhalations. He is primed already. _He must have been nearly ready to blow the whole time he was doing me._

While her mouth and tongue fondled him, her other hand stroked the inside of his thigh. She delighted in the smooth warmth of his skin and the sensation of the solid muscles underneath. He reacted to her caress with deep sighs. When she pulled hard on him he writhed, clutching at her hair and gasping. She could determine just how close he was to the edge by the sound of his breathing. She timed her pulls on him to his gasps and brought him to a frenzied series of groans, then opened her mouth and let merely the lightest breath touch him, bringing his agonies to a sharp peak and making him cry out to her. When he had calmed, and his movements tilled, she returned her mouth to him, stoked him softly and let it build up again. After three or four episodes of this treatment he was no longer peaking and calming, but staying at the top, his size and hardness increased to where Evey could no longer hold him in her mouth, but had to bring only the end to her wet lips and tongue. He began to meet her with is hips, the thrusts a reflex he could not control. His body was taking over; she was in danger as he neared his climax. A delicious exciting danger that he would come before she was ready for it. Already he was rasping, his breath coming so fast ands so hard it drowned out the eager sounds she was making herself. She had to hold on with both hands, hold him, bringing the end in and out of her mouth quickly, then slowly, quickly then slowly. Then she stopped, frozen, holding him still, just breathing on him. He arched his back as she removed her lips and mourned loudly and long,

"Evey, you are killing me, ah." Evey waited. There were two ways this could end. She could tease him until he could no longer bear it. He would rise up, grab her, throw her down and enter her, thrusting his frustration in a frenzy of sensation to climax inside her. Or she could pull on him with her mouth until he burst with a pulsating blast. She held him in her hands as his hips rocked the bed beneath her, his body desperately trying to come to the end, his groans loud in her ear. She made a decision, bent over him and pulled his length into her mouth as hard as she could, sucking him all the way to the back of her throat. She felt his hands on her, hard as he gripped her shoulders, then his cries as he shuddered and her mouth felt his release. He drew in another breath exhaled a low growl, then a moan. Another and another. Each finishing thrust accompanied by a cry that sounded like pain, but Evey knew, she knew. She held on until he was finished, lay spent and still beside her. Only then did she withdraw her warm mouth from him and roll on her back. _Oh wow_, she thought. They lay there, side by side, staring up at the dark ceiling.

"Now," Evey breathed, panting, "is the time for the Champagne."

"You'll….have….to get…it," came his soft voice between gasping breaths. "I won't… be able… to walk… for an hour."

Evey smiled, rolled off the bed. She padded into the Gallery, as she passed the Wurlitzer, she pressed replay on the Adagio, then she picked up the ice bucket and the Champagne flutes. Evey returned to the bedroom, and adjusted the door to the exact amount of light she needed to get the Champagne opened. She took the bottle from the bucket and wrapped it in its towel. A few twists later and she heard the happy "pop". She poured and handed him his bubbling glass. He sat up to take it from her. "A toast," she said as his fingers touched hers.

"Yes. A toast, little Eve, what a night this has been."

She could not help but laugh, she was so happy. "To wine, women and song," she said.

"No, no, no," he corrected, "to the wine, to a woman, and to our song."


	6. Chapter 6

Adagio

Part 6

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

* * *

Evey drained the last of her Champagne, set the glass down. V had finished his long before, scandalizing her with how swiftly he finished the expensive bubbly. Now he lay on his back on the bed, she could hear him breathing deeply, but she could not see him in the dark.

"V? Are you sleeping?"

"Hmmm? No. No. Not sleeping. Not yet."

Evey smiled, put her hand on his leg just above his ankle, and rubbed it up and down in the dark. It was smooth, the scars soft, the ridges yielding beneath her fingers. She was still not used to the hairlessness. By stroking him she familiarized herself with his body. _He is still allowing me to touch him. So far._ The wine and the sex have sedated him, like a wild animal made tame by a ranger's dart. She put both hands on him and moved closer.

"Ah, that's enough, Eve."

_How can he permit the kinds of intimacy we have just experienced, then cringe at a gentle caress_? She verbalized this thought, "How can it be enough? I haven't had enough of touching you."

"Please." His voice was soft, vulnerable, heavy with the wine and probably exhaustion. _He tore up the gym, dragged me all over the Gallery and performed nobly three times. Three times_. She smiled again. Felt like she would never stop smiling. _He is tired_, _certainly_.

Evey reluctantly obeyed, lifted her hands, felt among the sheets and blankets for the edges of his robe and then folded the silk over him, and then tied the long sash in a loose knot. "Do you want me to bring you your mask?" she asked him quietly.

"Oh, would you?" His voice was faint. _He is falling asleep_.

"Yes. Of course, Darling." She felt the bed shake. _I have startled him_. She leaned over, making him listen to her voice. "Sweetheart. Honey. My love." _I will make you hear my love if you refuse to feel it_.

He put his hand on her knee, then using her leg as point of reference in the darkness, brought it up to her face. She felt the smooth fingers caress her cheek. "I need to sleep," he said.

"I'm going to let you sleep. I'm not trying to start anything." That wasn't exactly true. She was completely and utterly sated sexually, but she did not want him to leave, and she did not want him to withdraw emotionally now that the fervor of their passion was spent. She wanted to start making him see her differently. As a partner. A friend. Someone he could trust. "Stay here, I'll be right back." She climbed out of the bed, pressing him in the center of his chest with her palm as she swung her legs over the side. "Stay there," she repeated.

"Hmmm," he said in lieu of an affirmative. She felt confident he would stay put. _It hasn't been an hour, after all, so he can't walk_. _Besides, he doesn't have his mask._

She found it under the table, tried to remember how it got there, and then decided it didn't matter. She carried it towards the room, looking at it as she walked. How eerie it looked to her, his face in her hands. As she passed the bright lights of the Wurlitzer she glanced down at the floor. The other mask, the one she had thrown with such frustration mere hours ago lay at her feet. Two masks. She nudged that one with her bare toe. _You stay there_.

He was sitting up when she returned; facing away from the light that came from the door. She climbed onto the bed behind him and put her arms around his broad back and pressed her cheek between his shoulders. She tucked the mask to his chest under his chin. "Here you are. You aren't going to sleep in it, are you?" Evey had often wondered if he did.

"Did you want me to stay here?"

"Yes. I do.

"Then I must have it."

"You don't have to sleep in it. It must be terribly uncomfortable. Leave it off."

"Then you'll have to shut the door."

"I will." She returned to the door and pushed it closed. Now that she was bathed in total darkness she had to make her way back to him slowly and carefully, shuffling along the floor with her feet. She climbed into the bed next to him. She felt the blankets, plumped her pillow, and moved her hands. Searched for him. Found him. Her hands told her he was lying next to her, his back to her, his head on the pillow, his wig still askew, the mask in the crook of his elbow. She kissed the back of his head. "Good night," she said.

She listened for a response, heard a soft snore. _He is sleeping_.

_Sleeping_. Evey lay down carefully on her own pillow, careful not to jostle him awake. She lay there in the dark listening to his deep and steady breathing. _He sleeps_. _He didn't leave me. _But still. Evey snaked her hands between the sheets until she found the long silk sash that was wrapped loosely around his waist. In the dark she tied one end around her wrist. _Just in case_

It had been easy to slide out of the bed in the dark. He had slipped out of the silk robe when he discovered she was tied to him, leaving it there behind him, flaccid. Inert. Evey had not even stirred. She would sleep for hours more. _And when she woke?_ He moved that thought aside. _I'm not ready to think that thought yet._ Actually, he wasn't ready to think any thoughts yet. His head ached. He felt nauseous. His legs hurt. His chest hurt. _Why does my chest hurt?_ He downed aspirin with his cold tea, rubbing his chest. _Nasty tea left over from last night, _he grimaced_, and it's staining my teapot. Didn't wash the dishes_. He picked up a towel and a reached for the faucet, then stopped.

_Oh_. For just a few minutes he had thought this was a dream. The sight of the stemware on the table, the counter, and the piano made it real. Very real. _The piano_. He froze. The _Piano_. _Dear God. It really happened_. Empty wine bottles. He looked back at the bedroom. _I really did just come out of there._ _She really is there. We really did sleep in the same bed._ He put the towel down and walked, naked and dazed, through the Gallery's main room. _There is a mask on the floor_. _The Wurlitzer is still on, humming softly through its 872 songs_. The corkscrew lay on the Isfahan. He bent down to pick it up. _This is not good for the silk_. He rubbed the carpet where the steel screw had made an indentation, smoothing the fibers with his fingers. _She took the mask off right here_. He touched his chin where she had kissed him that first time. His eyes strayed down the hall_. I went to get another mask. The Gym_. He set the corkscrew down on the table. _I shouted at her. I told her to go away_. He took a deep breath, tried to steady himself. He turned his eyes toward _that_ door, remembering what he had done next. Then he remembered what she had said.

His knees felt weak. The sofa caught him as he sank down. _Oh no._ _It's true_. _I have to get away. Now_. But he couldn't move. _Have to flee. Can't move. _He waited. Counted his breaths. One two three four, then came a wave of energy. He was off the floor and down the hall. Flash. A fresh wig, a new mask, his hat, his cloak the knives, the boots, his gloves. He was out the door and into the tunnels. Striding, striding, striding through the tunnels. His tunnels. _Where am I going? West. I am going West._ His strides lengthened until he was running. The pounding of his boots on the pavement was comforting. His began to breathe in rhythm with his feet, pumping for more speed with his arms. Running, running, running. He dodged debris, leaped over a pile of concrete and rebar, ducked past a stream of light from an open manhole cover. He ran West until he could run no more. Then he turned North.

Evey.

_It's not dark_. Already she was conditioned to think about light and dark differently. Light had a whole new meaning for her now. _He is gone_. She lifted her wrist, looked at the dangling black silk. _It was a good try. _She didn't have to be a professional therapist to know he would flee. She climbed out of the bed, scooped up his robe and held it to her face, breathing him. She hung the robe on rack next to her own, then wandered into the kitchen. _He's not in the Gallery. Strange, I can tell immediately without even searching for him._ _The whole place feels different when he's gone, like the paintings and the sculptures are holding their breaths, waiting for him. Expecting him. This place feels like a tomb without him. They are all just bits of stuff…but when he is here, they come alive. He makes them live. _She looked at the piano. _And you. _She lifted the cover and touched high C. The note sounded dull, flat, off key. _You only make beautiful sounds for him, don't you? _Evey replaced the cover, picked up the empty wine bottle that lay on its side on top of the piano. She moved to the sofa table and picked up the crystal, tucking each glass into her arm until she could carry no more. _I'll tidy up while he's gone. Maybe bake something nice. Cinnamon. Make the place smell lovely. Then I'll have to sit down with a few of his books. The thick ones. I need help._

She carried the glasses back to the sink and ran the hot water. She saw his towel and his pinny on the back of a chair. _He had started to clean up. Then what happened?_ She turned around as if the paintings would tell her. "You saw him," she asked them aloud. "What did he do? Was he very upset? Maybe crazy is contagious." She laughed, "_I'm_ talking to them now." _No. You are only crazy when they answer you back_. Evey stopped smiling. _I just heard a voice in my head. Oh God. He is making me mad, isn't he. I'm going to go mad_. She put her hand to her head. No. No fever

_He will come back. There are a great many uncertainties in the world, but this is not one of them. He will never abandon the Gallery. Not while he lives. _She knew this was true. _Wash the dishes._ She tied on his pinny and picked up the towel. _Wash the dishes. Bake a cake. And before he comes back I must read the psychology books. All of them._

V

He stopped running, leaned against the wall, panting. He had allowed himself to get overheated. He took off the hat, the mask, the cape, and sat down on a girder, fanned himself with the hat. _I know better than to get too hot. I have no way to cool down without water._ He looked around. _Where am I? Is there water here? I need water_. He sniffed. _Yes. There is water here. There is always water down here._ He picked up his things and moved. He found a cistern that had been formed when part of the ceiling had collapsed.

Rainwater, just a few inches deep, had collected on the tracks between piles of debris. He took off his boots and waded in, used his hands to splash himself on his arms and chest, then lay back against the debris. Rested. _Where am I?_ He could make out the words on the wall above him. Shafts of light from the street illuminated the tunnels periodically wherever a gutter had made a hole. No one bothered to repair those holes and after fourteen years there was quite a bit of decay_. I am only three kilometers away. I could only go three kilometers_. He fanned himself with the hat, panted. _It's the hangover_.

_More than the hangover_, he had to admit. _Much more_. _And she's going to think I've run away_. "I have," he said aloud. He rubbed his face with more water. _Well then_. _I have to go back._

_Later. I'll go back later. Now I will rest_. But he started to feel a chill so he moved away from the water to pull on the boots, the cape, and his gloves. He put the mask back on and set his hat firmly on his head. _Ready again_. He turned his face to the south. _Not ready_. His nausea was gone and he realized he was hungry. _Missed breakfast_. He heard the faint rumble of thunder echoing the rumble inside him. Soon he would be miserable, indeed, as winter rain flooded the tunnels making rivers where he liked to walk. Hot, cold, wet, hungry, tired. Everything pointed back to the Gallery. _I have to go home. _He stood.

He sat. _I can't. Not yet. What will I say to her? What will she want from me? A ring? _He shuddered_. I can't. I can't. I shouldn't have…I shouldn't have kissed her. She asked me, I couldn't say no. I was weak. The wine. _But he knew he was only making excuses. _I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to hold her, touch her and_…he tried to think of the right word. _Merge. I wanted to merge with her, make her part of me, so no one could ever take her away. Unless she is inside me she can be taken from me. He leaned forward, his arms on his knees._

_And she will be. Life will take her away. Will take her so far from me that I will never have her again. He counted. A few months. Summer is nearly here. Then it will all be over. And she will grieve for me. _A pain started to grow within his chest and spread dangerously throughout his body._ If only she had come out of the cell despising me. _He wincedIt occurred to him that he may have wished that to be so, perhaps even hoped that in addition to her freedom she had learned to hate him and by hating him, release him. Release herself from him. Release him_. Release me. Free me. He put his hand over his heart. Not so. I am caught. She has imprisoned me. _He stood_. Time to go home._

Evey

The Gallery smelled of warm cinnamon buns, cinnamon bundt cake and cinnamon tea. Evey had polished every statue, swept the floors, dusted every artifact, and delayed as long as possible. She steeled herself, went to his room and pulled down the big books. After looking through the contents, she selected the one with the worn cover and took it to the sofa. But she could not sit there. _Where?_ As she scanned the gallery her eyes fell on the Lady of Shallot. _That's where he sits to read_. She made her way to the paintings. Passed the Waterhouse. She stopped to look at it. "What do you tell him when he hurts?" She asked. She knew the poem. "Do you tell him that love is worth the pain? I hope so." She took his seat and laid the heavy book in her lap. She jostled the covers and allowed the book to fall open to where the spine was most bent. _I figure that's the best way to find out what he's been reading._ Sure enough, the book had a heavy crease near the center and the pages were rather wrinkled at the corners where he must have turned them with his glove. There was some water damage as well. She stopped. She touched the water spots with her finger. She glanced up at The Lady. "I hope you told him," she said.


	7. Chapter 7

Adagio

Part 8: Evey's Vigil

Rated PG

Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

* * *

V

V paused at the tunnel entrance to the Shadow Gallery. Instead of going in he lowered himself to the ground, took off his hat and sat leaning against the door. _Not yet. I can't go in yet_. He knew he had been gone more than a day, yet he still had not decided what to say to Evey. He still had no answers. It had occurred to him on the trek back that there might not _be_ an answer. _This is a new development. A question without an answer_. Every way he turned the problem the solution was faulty.

_If I leave her I have no way to finish. I need the Gallery. I have nearly twenty years of work invested. I have to have access to the storage rooms, the lab, the gelignite_. He shook his head slowly. Put a glove to the mask. _I have a headache_. His stomach rumbled again. _And everything hurts_.

_If I don't leave her, she will think I love her. She will want more from me. More than I have, and I have given her everything. Then when I am gone_...He couldn't finish the thought. _She said she loves me. If that is true then when I die she will not be comforted by the paintings or the books. She doesn't play the piano. The Wurlitzer will not bring her peace._

_There is a third possibility. I do not die. I live._ He doubled over, the spasm that gripped his belly threw him nearly to the tracks below. He retched, dry heaves wracked him over and over until he could no longer see. He held tightly to the ledge until it was over, face down out on the walkway, digging at the concrete. _No. That is not a possibility._ He would not even allow his thoughts to move past the Fifth or beyond. _I have been in Hell for two decades. I cannot endure this any longer. It has to end. I want it to end. I cannot go on._

He lay there, catching his breath. After a few minutes his vision returned, the darkness faded and he could see again. He ached from his head to his feet. _I need a warm bath. Some food_. The mask felt hot on his face, damp inside from his breath and his tears. _I need to take this off. I can't breathe_. He fingered the straps, changed his mind_. I can't go inside. I can't stay out here. Evey is in there. Hell is out here._ He rolled onto his back and lifted the chin of the mask to allow fresh air inside. Revived by the surge of oxygen, he felt his mind turn back to his problem. _I can solve any problem. Anything. If I think long enough. If I have enough books._

_A fourth option? Yes. There is always another option_. _I make her hate me. I make her leave me. I frighten her to the point that she goes away. I force her away from me_. Yet, even as he felt a twinge of hope that cruelty might drive her away, he knew that she was strong enough now to be a formidable opponent. _If she really loves me. She said she did. It must be true. She would be gone if she didn't. After what I did to her._ _If I could not break her in her cell, she will not break now_.

The recognition stunned him: _I have created the immovable object that impedes my own unstoppable force. _

He gasped, clutched at his head, and curled himself into a ball. _I can't breathe_.

Evey

Evey found him there, a black bundle on the threshold of the Gallery. For almost two days she could not resist opening the door every hour and peering into the murk. This hour's check at last brought her success. _Here he is. I knew he would come home._ She propped open the door with a chunk of concrete to light the entry, then bent over him, careful not to startle him awake with a touch, lest the knives come out. _He must be completely devastated to sleep out here where it is not safe. __He will kill me in a second if I wake him too suddenly. _"V?" She called to him softly. When he did not respond, she increased the volume and took a tentative step closer, "V?" She grew concerned. _He is a light sleeper_. _He told me himself. _"V?" louder this time. When there was no response, icy panic choked the next words from her mouth. "He's dead".

Evey knelt. With a shaking hand she pulled back the cape and pushed him over onto his back. He was warm. She closed her eyes, moved her lips. _Thank you thank you thank you_. Quickly she reached down to his belt and pulled the knives out one by one and threw them clanging into the Gallery where they spun and twirled across the flagstones. She knew he could still kill her with his hands, but not as quickly. After he was disarmed she put her ear to his chest and listened. He was breathing, but so very lightly. His heart was beating, but so slowly. She shook him. Put her hands on his neck, squeezed his arms. "V. Wake up." She touched the mask. Then grabbed it, shook it. Pulled it against the straps. Made like she was going to yank it off.

Nothing.

Now real fear clutched at her. _He's sick. He's injured_. She felt him for any sign he might be leaking…anything. His silk was damp all over, the cashmere soaked. She brought her nose down to the fabric. _Nothing. Just water. These tunnels are filled with water and it is raining above. _She rolled him as far as she could to check the concrete beneath him. It was white. _No blood. No broken bones. What is wrong?_ _What could be wrong? He's unconscious. He's drugged, he has a head injury, or he's catatonic. I can't tell without looking in his eyes_. Her hand hovered over the mask. _Do I take it off? No. He told me that is the only unforgivable thing I could ever do to him._ She felt his head. _No lumps, no blood._ She pulled off a glove and held his hand, sitting there, thinking. _His hand is so warm. But his arm is too light_. She released his hand. It remained raised in position. _He is catatonic. Oh God. He has snapped._

_What do I do?_ She got to her feet and flew back into the Gallery, returning seconds later with her heavy textbook. She set it on the concrete in the light from the doorway, flipped through the glossary, and then thumbed the pages to the correct chapter. Schizophrenic Catatonia. Evey sighed. She took his hand and folded it into her lap as she read silently to herself.

There was nothing else she could do. She waited. She sat there, listening to the soft music coming from the open door of the Gallery. Her book had been no help. Even the experts had nothing but some experimental medications. Injections. Treat the symptoms, not the cause. Evey was the cause and she knew it. She stroked and petted him, talked to him. Read from some of the books she brought out of the Gallery. _Sometimes people can hear and see and feel when they are catatonic. Others have said that they cannot, and have no memory of their missing time_. Evey waited. _I am patient. I have sat in a dark cell and waited for days. I know how to do it._

She squeezed his hand, pulled the Nietzsche from the pile of books beside her. _Man and Superman_ was rather worn, enough for her to think he liked to read it more than once. She read aloud to him, stroking his hand. She tried to find a passage that might bring him out. She knew he did not approve of writing in books. However, it was obvious to her, after reading his books, that he often went back and re-read them to the point where the pages showed signs of serious wear. It was this compulsive behavior that clued her in to this particular book. This Nietzsche was the most worn of the books by his bed. She opened it to the most dog-eared of pages and began to read aloud in a clear voice about the Will to Power.

V

_I am on a stage. The footlights are bright. They hurt my eyes._ He turns his back on the audience. Before him the cast beckons. He responds. _I am here. What play are we doing? Man and Superman. Oh. Shaw. Yes. I know this play. Yes. I like this play. I remember this line: "But a lifetime of happiness! No man alive could bear it: it would be hell on earth." Yes, and what scene are we doing? Act I Scene I? I know it. I know this whole play._

_Who am I playing? Tanner? Oh good. Good. A Revolutionary. Who is playing Ann? Ah, there is Ann. A vision of loveliness and feminine perversity. Read my book on revolution, Ann, and tell me what you think! _

_Oh, is THAT what you think! Egad! _

_Line line line, give me my line. Where are we starting?_

" _that's the devilish side of a woman's fascination: she makes you will your own destruction."_

_Did I say the line right? Let me try again. Take two. This is rehearsal, isn't it? Just the rehearsal?_

"_She makes you will your own destruction." Was that better? Did you like that? Again? You are a very demanding director. _

"_She makes you will your own destruction." Still not right? "She makes you will your own destruction. She makes you will your own destruction she makes you will your own destruction she makes you will your own destruction she makes you will your owndestruction she makes you will your owndestructionshemakesyouwillyourowndestruction…" _

_I can't breathe. _He gasped. Again he gasped, and again.

Evey

He gasped beneath the mask, his whole body jerked up and both hands reached for the knives on his belt, his hands slid up and down the leather, blindly grasping for his missing armory. Evey took the flailing hands in her own. "V," she called to him, "V."

He relaxed, breathing deeply. Evey leaned over him, wished she could see his eyes. "You are safe. We are here right outside the Gallery. Just lie still for a minute until you are sure you can move."

"Eve."

"Yes, it's me." She closed her eyes in relief. _He knows me. Thank God. I don't know what I would do if he went psychotic on me. Die, I guess_.

"Take me inside, Eve. I want to go inside. Take me inside. I want to go inside, Take me inside. Inside the Gallery, my Gallery insideinsideinsideinside now please now…"

Evey jumped up, alarmed. "Yes, yes, right away." She helped him to stand. He leaned on her so heavily she was afraid he would take them both down. She dragged him in, skirted quickly past the scattered knives and towards the bedroom.

"No, no no no no no, not there not there not therenottherenotthere."

Evey immediately pivoted on her heel and turned him away from the bedroom. "Where, V?. Where do you want me to put you?" He did not answer her, he was breathing too hard to speak. She took him to the kitchen and sat him in a chair. She put his arms on the table. Put her arms around his shoulders. Hugged him. "V?" Her voice trembled. He turned the mask to her, she heard him sigh. She waited. His breathing slowed, the tension left his shoulders. The mask dipped lower.

"I'm all right, Eve. It's over. It's over now."

"No," she sat down slowly in the chair beside him, put her hand on his. "It's not over. You just had a breakdown, V. It's not something you turn on and off like the telly."

"Yes, it is."

"Uh, no. I'm afraid it is not."

"I would know." His voice took on an edge like his blades.

Evey leaned in closer to put her eyes level with the black eye holes. "I've read the same books you have, V. That won't work with me anymore. You can't just tell me something and I will believe it. This time is different." She let him think about what she said, knowing that she had precipitated this crisis last night, and so she needed to ease it to its conclusion. Knowing he would trust her. _I know he loves me_. "This time you have me. We can talk. I assure you I am a better conversationalist than the paintings."

The mask tilted up, he looked at the suspended paintings. "Maybe. You might be," he said quietly.

She laughed softly. "Are you hungry? I have cake." She smiled at the eager sound he made. "Let me get you the cake. I'll draw you a bath while you eat it. When you come out I will give you a proper supper. Afterwards we can talk. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed. Where's the cake?"

Evey pushed her chair back and brought the cake from the counter, she thought about slicing it for him, but instead set the whole thing down. "It's a cinnamon pound cake. Do you like…" He was already digging at it with his fingers. Evey left the kitchen so he could take off the mask. She shook her head as she headed for the bathroom. _I hope he doesn't make himself sick. _he's already made himself sick. Is this too much for a zinger?


	8. Chapter 8

Adagio Part 9

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Evey

Evey drew his bath while in the kitchen he ate the supper she prepared for him. She put her hand under the tap and adjusted the temperature. _This is a very intimate thing to do for him. So is bringing him food. _She could see her hand shaking through the stream of water. _I do not know what I'm doing, do I. __We can talk about what happened, but that isn't going to fix it. According to the books, people like him are locked in padded cells. They are studied like lab animals. There is no cure, just a set of protocols so the doctors feel they are treating a patient. If a patient recovers there is no explanation, no confirmation that what the physicians have done was effective or could be duplicated with other patients. He can't be medicated. He would not allow it, and I'm not sure I would want whatever is left of him to be muted by Lithium._ The tub was full. As she turned the taps she heard his step behind her. She composed herself before turning, careful not to put a false smile on her face. He would see through that in an instant.

"How was the soup?"

"Delicious. Thank you. It is…different, having hot food waiting when one returns."

"The soup…was waiting a long time." Evey stared at him, made sure he knew what she meant. The mask dipped slightly. He knew. She said carefully, "The bath is ready."

"It's not too hot? It can't be too hot…"

"No. I know. I know. I read your books. I know what you need." The mask turned to her sharply. She changed the subject. "Do you need any help?" She looked at his boots.

"I've taken a bath before, Eve."

Now she did smile and it was real. "No, I meant getting your boots off. You told me your feet hurt, you are limping, and I think you may have sprained an ankle in the tunnel. Look." She pointed at his left ankle where the boot was misshapen, the supple leather stretched tight.

The mask moved to follow her pointing finger. "Yes. It looks swollen, doesn't it?"

His voice was smooth and he spoke slowly, as though he had to think about every word. Evey suspected it wasn't the words but his tone he was modulating.

"Sit down and let me take it off for you." She patted the commode seat. He sat down obediently and stretched his leg out, examining the leather with his hands.

"They got wet, I need to clean them," he said.

"Let's get you clean first," she answered. She tugged gently at the heel, sliding her fingers on the top to loosen the leather from his calf. "Point your toe, if you can."

"I can." He wiggled his foot and the boot came off with a few tugs.

Evey set the boot down and reached for the other. The boot on his injured leg was more difficult to remove. She tried to be gentle, but in the end had to yank enough on the leather to make him grunt. She glanced up at him. "Sorry." She knelt down to feel his ankle, then peeled his sock off over his foot. _He is watching me_. In fact he was so still and silent Evey glanced up in alarm, thinking he may be about to faint, but he was merely studying her intently. The mask moved from her hands to her eyes when he saw her look up.

"Hideous, aren't they." He meant his feet.

"No." They looked just like his hands. She was long past thinking they were hideous. _Or that he is_. His ankle was swollen around the joint; the scars were not supple enough to stretch like skin, so the swelling was uneven. She put the ankle in both hands, felt the bones beneath the ruined skin, moved his foot slowly back and forth. "It's just a sprain. No running for a few days. You'll be fine." He gave a short laugh. Evey didn't look up. She knew what he was thinking. He will never be fine. "I brought you your robe, and I found these," she held up a pair of slippers.

"Thank you."

She left him, closed the door behind her. Leaned against it for a moment, then went to the kitchen to clean up.

V

V slid lower into the warm water and closed his eyes. _I am back in the Gallery. I am fed, warm, clean and this water feels so good._ He sighed. _Yesterday at this time I thought I would never feel good again._

_There is something to be said about putting off unpleasant tasks. _

_But when I come out of the bath I will not be able to avoid her. And evasion is not the answer. No more wine, though_. The warm water was soothing. _Primal. Womblike_. He felt his mind relax with his muscles. He had been too distraught to think clearly in the tunnels. _I am calm now_. As he washed himself he thought of something he had not thought before. _What if Eve has a solution?_ The washcloth paused. Never had he considered that someone else might solve a problem for him. Never The washcloth resumed its course over his body, absently now, for he was thinking hard. _I will listen to what she has to say._

Evey

Evey sat on the sofa and waited for him to come out. It was more difficult that the other waiting she had done in the last two days. Then the waiting had been simple. He would come back, or he wouldn't. He would wake up or he wouldn't. He would be lucid or he wouldn't. Now, there was a myriad of possibilities to consider.

She was dressed in street clothes, she even put on shoes and fixed her hair. She wanted to appear as far away from a woman in a negligee as possible. All the wine he had brought was hidden in the cupboard and the stemware likewise. She made sure that Adagio would not play on the Wurlitzer, and that every candle was out of sight. She even picked up the mask from the floor and put it in her drawer. Even while she did these tasks, she knew she could not erase his memory merely by manipulating his things.

He came out, limping toward her slowly. He wore the silk robe and slippers. He had not changed into his Jacobean dress. He was in the same state of undress he was that night. _So, he was not afraid to remind me of what happened_. In fact, he came straight to her and sat beside her. Close. Evey could not suppress the look of surprise she knew was on her face. "You're not avoiding me."

"No. Evasion is not the solution. I know that now."

"I guess it's not," Evey said, astonished. She had not expected him to confront her so soon.

He reached for her with his glove and she let him take her hand, puzzled. He pulled her closer, lifted her on his lap and tucked her head under his chin. She let him. He leaned back, getting comfortable. Evey kicked off her shoes, and shifted enough to feel herself folded into his arms. _Very well, then, you have the reins, V. _

"So, Eve. What do you think we should do?" She heard his deep voice murmur under her ear, as he immediately turned the reins back over to her.

"About?"

"About the cell. About the piano. About the bed."

"Ha," she discovered she had been holding her breath. "Yes. That."

He was holding her in such a way she could not see him, nor he her. She assumed, like everything about V, this position was deliberate. _He doesn't want to see my face. Why?_

_No more mysteries. No more guessing_. _Just ask him_. "Why don't you want to see my face while we are talking?"

He was silent. Evey waited patiently. She could feel him tense beneath her. After a long pause she heard him inhale deeply before he said, "I have been here a long long time, Eve. A long time. And my opportunities to have a conversation with another person have been…somewhat limited. The only people in the Gallery are the statues. The only faces are in the paintings." He paused again. "Much like my own, the faces on the statues are motionless; the faces in the paintings are frozen. Yours moves." He took another breath. "Your face says too much. Your eyes burn me. I need to hear you but I cannot bear to see you. Do you understand?"

Evey did not answer, absorbing this idea. She tried to understand. "You cannot bear to look at me," she repeated, confused and hurt. _No more mysteries_. _Just tell him_. "I don't understand." She tried to keep how injured she felt from her voice. She knew she failed.

He squeezed her. "I…" he stopped. "You asked me. I told you the truth." He sounded almost desperate.

"You can't bear to look at me," she said again. _He can't bear to look at me_. "You can't bear to…" Her voice choked off in a sob. Evey felt like the weight of the world above the Gallery was crushing her. For the first time she truly felt like she was underground. She struggled to loosen his grip. _I'm getting up_. But he tightened his arms and held her.

"Eve. Please. Listen to me." He interrupted her, his voice hoarse. "How can I think when I am looking at you? How can I speak coherently when all I see is your face? How can I communicate when my mind will not be still, when it is all I can do to keep my hands off you, when all I want to do is crush you against me and lie here forever? How can we talk when my mouth wants only to feel your lips? My hands want your body and my ears want your soft moans? There can be no conversation between us unless I am blind. There can be no talk unless I remove you from my sight. I cannot bear to look at you and not have you, to look at you and not be inside you, to look at you and not cover you, to absorb you into me. Can you understand?"

Eve felt tears come to her eyes. _He can't see them. Good_. _But he can hear me sniff_. She sniffed. More tears came, made hot tracks down her cheeks. His arm moved and a moment later a glove appeared before her eyes holding a large white cotton handkerchief.

"I came prepared," he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

Adagio

Part 10 Talk talk talk talk

Parts 1 – 9 here:

http://archive-vfic. PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

Evey

Evey took the handkerchief from him. She wiped her eyes, tried to blow her nose delicately. "I thought you were going to say you didn't want me."

"What made you think that?" He asked her quietly.

Evey wanted to 'give him a look' that meant "you've been gone almost two days" and "you ran away", but realized how very very clever he was to position her in such a way that he couldn't see her face. _He wants to keep it together with words. Just words. His forte, not mine. _"You left me." She answered simply, wiping her cheek.

"Hmmmmm," his chest rumbled. "I'm sorry. I did react without thinking. I hope you will forgive me, Eve."

"I do. I knew you would come back, I just didn't know what you would say to me when you did." She paused, and when he did not volunteer to speak, she said, "I want to apologize for…putting you in this situation. I recognize that I am the one who started this, who pushed you to the edge. I'm sorry."

"No, no. You may have pushed me to the edge, but I am the one who took the leap. You don't know how close I have been to the precipice. The only thing holding me back was self-control; the wine removed that. And then there is the fear."

"Fear?" Evey took his hand and pressed it to her chest, feeling with her hands the strength in each finger, the weight and power in the wrists. "You aren't afraid of anything,"

"Just you."

She gave him a short laugh. "Oh please, I am not so threatening." He did not answer, but brought her hand to the mask and touched her fingers to the lips. Evey sighed. "You frightened me, too. When I saw you outside in the tunnel. I thought you were dead. I thought I had killed you."

"It is hard to kill me." He returned her hand to her lap. "You will have to try harder."

She smiled sadly. "I wanted you to be happy. I want to see you happy. I want to see you smile."

"I'm always smiling."

Evey laughed again. "Stop it. Stop making me laugh. I'm trying to be serious."

"I like to hear you laugh. Don't make me stop listening to its music."

"Are you happy?"

"Never."

Evey frowned. "And there is nothing I can do?"

"Nothing. And don't believe it is because you have failed, Eve. It is an error in your thinking. When did you decide that happiness is my goal? Or that, lacking it, I need someone to inflict it upon me?"

"Inflict it…inflict…" Evey puzzled over his words. "I want…" she stopped when she realized that she did not know what she wanted. _But, I know what I don't want_. _I don't want him to become violent. I don't want him to go catatonic on me again. I don't want him to brood. And I don't want him to misunderstand how I feel. _She tried again"I thought happiness was just the absence of sadness. It's not, isn't it. Are you still upset? Are you still uneasy about what happened?"

"Ah, that is a much better question. Happiness is _not_ the absence of sadness. Happiness means that one is content. Complete. No longer striving for more. Satisfied. That is precisely why happiness is such an insidious prison, Eve, it puts an end to growth. It shuts you in. I will never be happy because I know there is always more. More to learn. More to do. More to see. But one day I will be finished. On that day, even on that last day, I will not be happy, for I know it will be the end. As for my uneasiness. That I can answer. I am uneasy. We have no future, Eve. It is wrong to develop hope when the prospect is so dim."

His words pierced her. She felt the tears again, lifted the handkerchief to her nose. "No future? How can you say that? We…" she was about to tell him about their future, to show him how wrong he was. How happy…_there it is again. Happiness. Am I happy?_ She listened to his heart beating regularly beneath her ear. He was warm. Smelled of soap and leather. His body was hard and solid. She felt safe lying on top of him. He would never hurt her again. He would never let anyone else hurt her. She could relax, knowing he could not escape without first physically removing her body from his own. _But is that happiness?_ _Can I stay down here forever? Can he?_ The glimmer of understanding extinguished the hope she thought she had found. _He's right_.

"Evey?"

"I'm just thinking about what you said."

"Yes?"

"I'm thinking that right now, I am content. I might not be tomorrow. But I don't care; when tomorrow comes, then I will feel that day. Not now. I won't let tomorrow diminish how I feel this night."

"So you are suggesting that any attempt to plan for future emotional states is ill-advised."

"Yes. And I think that may be what caused you to, to...to come undone. Am I right? Were you thinking that now something has changed between us, but the circumstances have not? Can you tell me what happened? Do you know?"

"I'm not certain."

"Has it ever happened before?"

"Yes. Over the years, several times."

Evey paused, stricken. _Several times?_ She tried to imagine him, alone, suffering, exposed. In a low voice she asked him, "How can you know?"

"I wake up," he answered. "Hours will be missing. I'm always very hungry." He brought the mask down to the top of her head and she felt him inhale before he continued, "I'm always here, though. In the Gallery. Somehow I always end up here."

"Except this time." Evey whispered.

"Yes. Except this time."

"Because I was in here."

"Probably."

"So some part of you perceives me as a threat."

"I told you that already."

"Oh God. So it could happen again. At any time."

He ran a gloved hand up and down her thigh. "No, it doesn't happen that often. It is usually precipitated by something horrible. Some irresolvable conflict. That's what the books say."

"Horrible?" Evey made a face she was glad he couldn't see. _Horrible?_ They had spent an evening of laughter, tears, and love. _Horrible?_ She shook her head. She was pretty sure he had enjoyed parts of that evening. In fact, she remembered there was some physical proof. "And this time? Can you remember?"

"I remember you reading me Shaw."

"Huh. I was reading you Nietzsche."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. It was Man and Superman. Do you remember that? I was reading about the Will to Power. I was hoping it might make you see that you could will yourself back to me. What Shaw were you hearing?"

"I was the protagonist in Man and Superman," his voice became thoughtful. "Fascinating."

"Isn't that the play about a revolutionary trying to avoid a woman who is pursuing him?"

"It is."

"Oh, V, that is too funny." Evey laughed, "And isn't Nietzsche's' Man and Superman about individualism and right and wrong?"

"You've been reading."

She laughed again. "And you know, she gets him in the end of Shaw's play. What a fantastic coincidence."

"There are no…"

"Oh stop it," she was so amused by this conjunction. Amused and captivated. _What an amazing mind he has! _ "You were insensible, yet your mind was lecturing you."

"I have an astonishing capacity to heal, Eve. I should be dead many times over. I told you, I am very difficult to kill."

"I am particularly grateful for that fact." She brought the gloved hand to her lips and kissed it. "How is it that you are so strong?"

V

_I have the choice of answering her or not. Lying to her or not._ He tipped his head back to get some air. _In a few months it won't matter. How will she react when I tell her? Will she pity me? I could not bear that. Will it frighten her? Will she be unable to look at me even with the mask on?_ He realized he was in a win-win situation. She would become a closer and more valuable ally or she would go and never return. _Either way, I retain an advantage. The truth then. No more lies._

"A long time ago…" he began. He told her about Larkhill. About Valerie. About the cell, the needles, and the doctors. He told her about the darkness, the cold, and the fear. He told her about the stench, the blood and the pain. He left out a great deal, but he knew she understood. Had she not shared a similar experience? He was glad he could not see her face. As the story progressed he was conscious that she grew still, not moving, quiet to the point he could no longer hear her breathing. He told her about the fire.

She moved, then. Got up and slid off his body and stood beside the sofa. He turned to face her, but she had turned her back to him, her hands over her face. "Evey," he called her back to him. _She needs time to absorb this. I will tell her no more tonight._

"V." her voice was thick with tears. "That cell you put me in. You built it long before I came to you, didn't you."

_Where is she going with this?_ He felt a pulse of alarm. _Shall I answer? She already knows the answer, doesn't she?_

"You built it years ago. What did you do, V. Did you sleep in it? Sit in it?" There was an electric pause, "Have you put anyone _else_ in it?"

_There was that one man, the guard. He was in it for a while. Then there was the medic. The one who liked to peel bits of my skin off when I was in the straight-jacket. And the doctor who injected caustic substances under my skin to watch me writhe and then calmly took notes while I screamed. He spent some time in there too. There were others. They are all gone now. Long dead._ _The truth? Does she not deserve the truth? _He answered slowly, carefully,_ "_Sometimes."

"God, God, V. Oh God."

He heard her begin to weep again. He picked up the handkerchief, raised it ready to hand it to her if she would turn around. She didn't. _Is she crying for me or for them? _He lowered his hand. _I should have lied to her._

"How many, V?" Her voice was small. Still, she did not turn to face him.

"Do you mean in the cell or the total so far?" This answer brought on a fresh outburst of tears. She went down on her knees, sobbing. V stood slowly, adjusted his robe around his waist, and tightened the long sash, delaying his answer as long as possible. He moved close behind her, bent down and put the handkerchief in her hands. _I must tell her_. _I have to tell her_. "Fifty-two," he whispered.

"No, no, no," she cried. The handkerchief fluttered around her nose.

V straightened, listening, watching the shaking curls on the back of her head_. Good. This is good. She hates me now. She will leave soon._ He moved the mask, glanced at the door to the tunnels. _She knows what I am. No one alive knows better. This is a good thing, a solution. Now I have no worries that she will grieve when I am dead_. He waited to feel better. Waited for the relief that was sure to come. Instead, with every gasping sob that came from her little body, the knot inside him twisted tighter. He put his hands on that knot, tried to squeeze the pain away. He waited for her to do something. _Do something, Eve so this will go away. I'm supposed to be free now. I thought the truth would work. I thought…_

He saw her tilt her ear towards him. _She's listening. Turn around, Eve. Let me see your eyes. I want to see them now. _What would he see in her eyes? _Fear? I have seen much Fear. Many times. I know what Fear looks like. I watch their eyes as the metal teeth of my blades bite them. I watch them die. I know fear when I see it. Horror? I have seen that too. No one sees a ghost without shuddering. No one sees me emerge from the shadows without horror. I know what that looks like too. Revulsion? Yes. I saw that in their eyes at Larkhill. Revulsion is the worst. Pity? Will I see that in her eyes? I do not see Pity so often. Only once. Once. I saw Pity in Delia's eyes the day before the explosion. She came upon me, awakened me for another injection. I opened my eyes to see her face above mine, and there in her eyes I saw Pity. It was fleeting; the Pity in her eyes was gone the moment she saw what was in mine._

_What will I see in Evey's eyes? Turn around. I will know. I must know._

He spoke, and was shocked at how hoarse he sounded. "Turn around, Evey."

She did. She turned around, the tears had stopped, but their tracks still glistened on her cheeks. And her eyes. Big and brown. The lashes were clumped with moisture. And in them was something he had never seen before. He held his breath, staring. Not Fear. Not Revulsion. Not Pity. Something else. _What is it?_

She spoke, and her words were strangely calm. "If you had revealed yourself to me while I was in there. In the cell. If you had opened the door and stood there, staring down at me…if I had known that you were my tormentor. It would have been too much. The betrayal…I would have snapped."

Evey

She stood up and came to him, pushed him back down on the sofa and climbed in his lap again. Positioned herself back over his heart and under his chin. He allowed her to do this, did not resist her, but he was moving very slowly and Evey suspected he was confused.

_I will enlighten him, then_, _but carefully_. "When I was in that cell I was struggling against myself. Resisting an idea: the idea that other people have power over me, that other people can control my mind and my body. I was fighting against an intangible.

"If you had come in, if I had felt you, knowing it was you kicking me, hitting me…" his body twitched beneath her and he made a strangling noise. Evey stopped speaking, letting him breathe for a few moments, wary of this sore spot. "If I had known it was you," she said, continuing, "then I would have been struggling against _you_. Not _me_. Not the _idea_. Do you see the difference? I would not have tried to resist _you_. I would have given up. You would have easily broken me, where _they_ never could." She waited for him, but he said nothing. "Do you see?" She repeated, pushing him just a little, trying to force him to respond to her_. He_ _must respond or we have made no progress._

He touched the chin of the mask to the top of her head and whispered. "You were thinking about me when you were in there?"

Evey stroked the soft silk of his robe. "That is when I realized I loved you. When I thought it was the government keeping me in that cell, all I could think about was your vendetta against them, and how much I hated them and wanted to destroy them too. I thought about how much I admired your single-minded pursuit of Justice. How you could devote yourself to freedom. Give up everything for us. For the people. We were so afraid. We needed someone without fear to act for us. I loved you for that. I loved you for the idea that you would avenge the deaths of my father, my mother and my brother. That you possessed the courage that I did not have."

"But when you came out…" he said slowly.

"I was shocked and angry and betrayed...and then at last, relieved. I could finally comprehend…"

"And your love?" These little words were not even voiced, but came out of the mask like a puff of air. "Did your love disappear when the bars did? It must have."

Evey paused, knowing that his question was the critical key to his breakdown. _This is what is causing the irresolvable conflict. He cannot reconcile my love with his guilt. His mind cannot grasp this kind of love_. _How can I convey what I want him to hear?_ _Simple is best_. Already she had paused too long thinking about her response, for he was tensing up beneath her like a coiled spring. She wrapped the lapels of his robe in her fists, holding on, for she suspected he was about to react violently, and she must be ready no matter what he did. Her answer was a simple question. "V," she asked, "Did you stop loving _me_ when I was in there?"

Sure enough, he came off the sofa in one smooth motion, as though he would flee again. Had she not been ready for it, she would have found herself flung to the carpet. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist before he could take more than two steps. "You are not running away this time." She told him. "Sit down." He stopped. _He_ _is responding to me. He is listening. He is lucid. But does he understand?_ He stood still, his chest rising and falling, his gloves on her hips, almost like he wanted to peel her off of his body but not trying very hard. She held on tightly. "Sit down," she kept her tone soft, not like an order but more like stroking him with her voice, calming him, bringing him back from that dark place in his mind. _I am learning. I know what to do now._

Evey coaxed him, her chin resting on his shoulder, her voice in his ear. "Sit down. Sit down." Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the sofa. "We have to talk about this," she told him. He nodded, but he still felt like stone, hard and cold, under her legs and arms. "We are just talking," she soothed. Evey unwound her legs slowly, deliberately, keeping her hands on him as she knelt on the carpet between his knees. She held on to him, her hands on his waist, ready should he try to leap again. She looked up at the mask. "You have to look at me now, because what I want to say to you is in my eyes, not in your ears. Do you understand? So look at me now."

The mask dipped obediently, she stared at the fathomless eye holes. She began carefully, "There is a kind of love that cannot be corrupted by circumstance. You must know that by now. This kind of love is not influenced by beauty, by money, or by power. This kind of love cannot be turned on and off like reward and punishment. It just is. And it endures. And it is all we have when everything else is gone. It was my last inch, V. It was what I had left of me when I emerged from that cell. And you are a part of it. It permeates me, and through _me_ it touches _you_. I know you can feel it. I know you can see it in my eyes. So look at me. See it now."

His shoulders began to shake, the mask dipped to his chest. Evey stood up and put her arms around him, hugging him to her. She put her mouth to his ear and whispered. "I love you, and nothing you could do or say or tell me about your past could make me stop loving you. Nothing." Evey tucked the wilted handkerchief into his glove. "Nothing."


	10. Chapter 10

Adagio

Chapter 11

Rated NC-17 for sexual situations

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

Evey

Evey listened to him. The low notes of pain lay heavy on her ears, the frozen grin now obscene. She longed to push the mask up and over his head. Instead she stroked his arms, petted him, and smoothed the silk over the tops of his thighs. She was silent. The time for words was over. _What more can I say? Nothing_. She listened to him breathe, waited to hear him calm himself, to hear him sigh. _This is not the time to talk, but the time to touch_. Long minutes of silence ensued as her hands spoke to him of her love, her fingertips were a poem on his body, peeling back the robe over his chest. They were a sonnet on his skin as she tucked her hands under the robe and smoothed her fingers over his scars, feeling but not seeing. She brought her hands up to the chin, no longer cold but hot now with his breath. He had told her never to touch it again. She let her fingers brush lightly over the hard surface on their way to the top of his head, not touching, not really, just hinting at a caress. She combed her fingers through his hair, touched his ears with her thumbs, felt the straps. He had not forbidden the straps.

"I want to kiss you now," She said very softly to him when she was certain he was calm. She remembered how this very setting had started it all just two days ago. But this time she would not pull off the mask. He would decide. _Tonight it will be different. No more pain. Only love_. _And he will decide_.

He brought the gloves up and placed them on her hands, gently peeling her fingers from his hair. He said, "Not yet. I want to look at you." His voice was raw. "I don't want to reach into darkness. Not yet."

"Then you will not," she said. She allowed him to take her hands from the mask, but when he released her she put them on his chest, then slid them down to his waist. Her fingers found his sash and pulled on the ends, deftly releasing the long silk ribbon from the robe. She watched the mask disappear from her sight as she wrapped the soft sash around her eyes and tied it securely behind her head. "I will go into the dark for you," she murmured, feeling for him now, blind. She felt his arms, moved her hands up to his shoulders; her fingers felt their way up his neck and to the mask. Again, she looped a finger through the elastic over his ear and waited.

After a long pause, she heard him. "That morning, I woke up and found myself tethered by this very sash."

She smiled. "I wanted to make sure that I awoke should you try to leave. I wanted to be there when you woke up, V. I thought you might flee. I wanted to be there."

He touched her mask, black and soft where his was white and hard. "It was not a difficult binding to evade." He ran two gloved fingers along the silk band all the way to the long ends that touched his knees. "Yet you slept."

"The wine…"

"Yes. The wine. We have had no wine tonight."

"No. No wine," she answered. When he did not respond she moved closer. " Let me love you, V. Permit me."

She listened to him breathing, long and slow. She felt him turn his head side to side, testing her grip on the straps. His decision. She waited. Then she felt him turn, the gloves grazed her hands briefly, she felt the wig move, the long strands of hair brushed her wrist and arms, then his mouth was upon hers as he bent her backwards. She felt herself lifted then set carefully against the cushions. He completely covered her, his body hard, strong, and heavy pressing her deep into the leather sofa.

V

"Eve," he breathed, reluctantly taking his lips from hers. "You are beautiful." He pulled back far enough to bring as much of her into his field of vision as possible. With the mask gone, his world brightened. He blinked in the light. She lay quietly on her back, propped up on the cushions, waiting. A soft smile curved her lips, still glistening from the kiss, her short curls lay askew, caught in the ebony silk of his sash. He tugged at each finger of his gloves one by one, then pulled them off letting them drop limply to the carpet. When his fingers were free, he used them to unbutton her blouse, top to bottom, delighting in the little squirm of her body when she realized what he was doing.

"I just wanted a kiss," she murmured, her smile widening.

"And you shall have another." He lifted her arm, tugged at the blouse to get it off. She sat up a little to help him. He dropped the blouse to the floor on top of his gloves.

"Ah," he sighed, disappointed. "Why did you wear this…_thing_?" He ran his finger along the underwire to show her what he meant, since she could not see him. He made disgusted noises as he tugged on a strap.

She laughed softly. "I didn't think you would want to…well…I was trying not to be…I was trying to be," she paused, shook her head side to side, "un-sexy."

"Impossible." He wished he were wearing his knives, for he would have made short work of this monstrosity of elastic and metal clasps. He refused to even consider unfastening it; dealing with the misery and humiliation of fumbling with hooks and eyes. One glance at the floor solved his problem. He was off and back so swiftly Evey did not have a chance to ask him where he had gone. A moment later a flash of steel and the offensive garment snapped as the elastic was severed. It flopped to both sides of her body. He set the knife down on the table. "I see my blades are all over the floor. All six?"

"Oh. I forgot to pick them up. I am so sorry."

"Think nothing of it. This one has come in handy." He tugged gently at the remains of her bra and pushed it over the side of the sofa to join the growing pile of clothing. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"No. I am rather warm, actually."

"Parts of you say otherwise." He touched each delicate pink nipple with the tip of his finger, watching them stiffen even more, saw her shiver and watched the bloom of goosebumps that spread across the pale skin of her arms. "I can see you." he said, "and it is a wondrous sight." He bent over her and took a tiny nipple in his mouth, kissing it. He rubbed his cheek against that soft mound of her breast as he stroked the other with his bare hand. "I have been thinking of doing this…" he murmured, his mouth full.

"Have you?" Evey whispered. He brought his face close to hers, kissed her mouth again, and felt her kiss him back. Again he pulled away, getting as much pleasure from looking at her as from touching her. Her hand floated up, feeling for him. "Don't go," she said.

"I won't," he promised, taking it and bringing it to his lips. "I am merely looking at you."

She sighed, smiling. Then turned her ear up, listening for him. He bent down again and kissed her ear, then her cheek. He put both hands on her arms and smoothed them down from her shoulders to her wrists, feeling the soft skin, squeezing her wrists and thumbs as he reached the ends of her arms. He had a fleeting vision, that Eve was a bounteous buffet, set down before him. A ravenous man. _That is how I feel. First I must consume her with my eyes, then I shall feast._

He picked up the knife again, touched a finger to the mound of her belly, and drew his finger down low to the waist of her blue jeans. She shivered a little. "Don't move," he warned. The knife twirled, ribbons of denim blossomed beneath his hand. She startled a little, but the blade did not touch her flesh. After several passes of the steel what had been a nice pair of jeans was a pile of rags on the carpet. Her white panties lay exposed before him, thinly covering her mound of Venus with a tiny triangle of lace. He let the panties be for now; afraid that to knife the fragile fabric would push him beyond his ability to control himself. He was not yet finished with the first course.

She exhaled. "Can I move now?"

"Are you frightened?"

"A little…"

"Don't be. I know what I'm doing."

"Ohhhh…." She drew the word out long and low, "I don't think so."

He kissed her again to prove her wrong. She put her arms up and took his shoulders, bringing him down harder on her mouth. He responded with a soft moan. _I can get lost here_, he warned himself.

Her hands circled around the back of his neck under the wig, keeping him against her mouth. He obliged her silent request by taking her lower lip, gently pulling on it, using his tongue to capture its supple fullness and his teeth to delicately imprison it. He was rewarded with a sigh and a squeeze from her arms. He turned his attention to her upper lip, made that part of her his own as well. He began to hum under his breath, conscious of the sound, indifferent to it, knowing she would hear and interpret his growing arousal. He was aware she could feel as well as hear his desire. _Nothing I can do about that. Well, yes, there is. _He brought his mouth up, panting, releasing her. _I need air. I wish to feast, not devour her._

Her hand reached for him again. He took it and kissed each finger, finally pressing the palm to his lips, closing his eyes. Calming himself. _Slowly. Slowly_. He breathed in deeply. Allowed the air to escape, felt himself relax.

"V?" she sounded concerned. Her other hand touched the blindfold.

"No." he pushed her hand away from the silk ribbon. "No. I am fine."

"You sound like you are in pain," she said. "We can stop."

"No," he repeated. "I am suffering, but not from pain. I want to hold you too tightly. Consume you." He kissed her hand again, took her finger in his mouth and felt the delicate bones with his tongue and lips. He put two in is mouth and sucked on them tenderly, exploring the joints, the nails, moving them about. He nibbled, and then removed them, drawing his teeth along her palm and to her wrist. Then her arm. When he reached the inside of her elbow he buried his face in that warm valley. She shivered. "Are you cold?" he asked again.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you," she answered. "You are very warm."

Hearing her speak reminded him of her lips. He shifted position again to reach her mouth and took it again in his own, silencing her. He kissed her as long as he could before needing to come up for air. He said, "This sofa is too small."

He delighted in the little laugh she gave him. "This sofa is a dangerous place. We never actually just sit here anymore," she said.

He sat back, looking at her again. She was still smiling at him, her lips swollen from his rough kisses. _I must be more careful._ She lay relaxed against the black cushions, her skin pale in the lights. The rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed beckoned him. He could not resist now that they were freed from their bindings. He leaned forward and kissed them both again, cupping them in his hands. "We don't," he agreed. "And it is too small for what I intend."

"What do you intend, milord?" she teased.

In lieu of an answer he straightened and picked up his knife. He touched her left nipple with the tip of his finger, then drew it slowly down the mound of her breast, across the swell of her belly and down to the waistband of her panties. He slid his finger under the lacy elastic and whispered, "I intend to hear you scream again. Be still." At this command Evey held her breath. The edge of the knife joined his finger. He traced a gentle path with the tip on her skin for mere inches before flipping the blade with one swift motion. The waistband evaporated in a puff of lace. The remnants of her panties floated like confetti to the cushions. He dropped the knife carefully to rest in the pile of ruined clothing.

"Ohhh,' Evey breathed.

He put his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her easily into his lap. Then he stood and carried her to his bedroom, ignoring the pain in his ankle. She did not protest, so he did not speak. _The_ _hors d'oeuvres are over_. _The feasting shall commence._

He kicked off his slippers before laying her down and arranging her artfully on the bed. The robe he kept on, though it flapped loosely against him now that it was missing its sash. Twice he repositioned her to the best advantage in the light, moving the lamps, adjusting the shades. She lay there, amused. He could tell by the sly smile on her face. She put her knees together, shyly, and made a quiet noise in her throat. He arranged the lighting so it would cast dark dramatic shadows of her body on the white sheets. The patterns pleased him. He lost himself in the art for a moment, reveling in his possession of this woman. _My woman_. Then the edges of his mind shot him a warning: _We have no future. There is no tomorrow._ He paused, recognizing the dangerous thoughts, feeling that treacherous edge of his mind. His heart beat a little faster as he fought against the familiar sensation. _It will not take me again tonight_. He willed himself calm. He remembered what Evey had told him: _Don't let thoughts of tomorrow ruin the now. We are only in the now, and tomorrow never comes. _He pushed the dangerous thoughts aside, pleased at how easy it was to retreat from the abyss by using her words as a shield. He turned to the woman in his bed. She lay there, blind, helpless, waiting for him. Saving him. _I love her._ _No more waiting_.

He moved the pillows, pushed the blankets into ridges until the tableau made a composition worthy of her body as the centerpiece. When he was satisfied with his canvas he climbed in beside her on hands and knees, moved her legs. Lifted a little foot and gnawed on her heel, then her ankle. She giggled.

He took his mouth from her leg just long enough to say, "You are delicious." Meaning it in every sense of the word.

"Then by all means, taste all you want, but want what you taste," she laughed as he bit her playfully on her calf.

"I want it. Oh yes." He bit her again, then rubbed the skin over the bite to smooth away the mark. He was progressing steadily up from between her legs, and as he neared her thighs she grew quiet and still, no longer making the soft giggling sounds he had been using to navigate. "Eve?"

"Ahh," she sighed. "I'm just waiting."

"For what?" he whispered, then put his head down to taste the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

"For the main course."

He smiled, then he moved up her body so he could kiss her mouth again, cradling her head in his arms, covering her with his body and the voluminous folds of his robe. He put his mouth to her ear, "I must pace myself to finish everything and leave nothing on my plate…or yours." He responded to her easy laugh by touching her face with another kiss before moving back down and returning his attention to her thighs.

Memories of his pain vanished. He breathed in her scent, absorbed her warmth, her flawless skin. She had tensed; the muscles beneath his hands were hard. _Main course, indeed._ He pushed himself forward for the first taste, holding her hips down with his hands, using his tongue to search for that delectable tidbit. He knew when he found it. She arched her back, bringing her body up to meet his mouth. Her knees came up as well. _Yes. Time to feast. _He allowed himself to taste every part, exploring with a careful finger the areas he had missed the first time, feeling her wet and ready for him. This sensation sent a surge through his body; hardening even more what had been merely firm. _Careful_, he warned himself, _not yet_. He used his tongue to dart across her velvet mound, ready with his hands to restrain her as she cried out and twisted in the sheets. _You will hold still_, he thought. _You will not escape this. _

He continued to touch her intimately until he perceived the rhythm she initiated with her hips. _This is music we can both dance to_. He stayed with her, his ears picking up every nuance of sound coming from her lips. Her moans, her sighs, and the little gasps meant he had connected once again with the elusive tiny button within the folds. He obliged her rhythm, knowing the regular pulses were the key to her song. As she moved harder and harder against him, and she became louder and louder he found it more difficult to control his own growing need. He paused several times to lift his hips on hands and knees from the sheets, panting, waiting for the threatened crescendo to drift down. _Not yet_. He reminded himself. _I am creating a piece of art. Performance art. Each stroke of the brush, each wave of the baton must be perfect. The finale is everything. _Those pauses in the rhythm merely maddened Eve. When he had to stop to mind his own progression she sobbed out in frustration, digging at the sheets with her fingers, twisting the fabric, changing his patterns and creating her own. He worked his mind and his body in concert, focusing on bringing them both to a crescendo at the same time. _Patience, Eve. This will be worth the wait_.

But too soon the timing was right. He knew it the first time he lifted himself from the bed and there was no corresponding lull to bring him back from the edge. He knew it when the gasps and panting breaths he heard from the pillows did not diminish when he lifted his lips from her body. The abyss reached for him and his mind went dangerously blank. Her musk permeated him, controlled him. The animal energies at the base of his spine seized him and he surrendered to it.

He drew in a breath and leaped, his hands on her arms, pinning her down. He arched over her, biting her shoulder, then raised himself up to connect with her. He entered her, sliding in slowly. Feeling every inch of her as she clutched at his back, her voice in his ears, calling him, calling him as if from far way. _Slowly_, he told himself. He set his teeth. _Slowly_. He forced his body to obey him as every muscle fiber screamed at him to thrust deep and hard. Slowly he withdrew and pressed in again, like the opening bars of a Mozart concerto. He was in agony, arched his back with the effort. _I must hear her. She must be with me this night. Not after. Not before. Tonight we have come together. We have already merged. Mentally, emotionally, and now… physically. Tonight may be all we ever have. I will make it perfect. I will it to be so._

She moaned beneath him, thrusting her hips at him, moving faster, reaching for him, her hands blindly grasping. He felt himself harden even more, for her hands on his flesh were unbearably stimulating. He felt that electric warning that soon no amount of willpower would control. He gasped with the effort and nearly sobbed with relief when he heard the first notes of her climax. She cried out, her fingers dug into his sides and her body went rigid. She convulsed beneath him. At that moment his control evaporated. Her last upward thrust took him so deep within her he was unable to stop. He released himself from the fetters of his mind. His muscles responded, propelling him into her again and again, pounding until he exploded with savage liberation. His own voice joined hers; his bass notes the undertone to her treble cries. He held still, feeling himself pulsing within her. Timeless. She was still, too. Motionless. They hung there together. Floating. Untethered.


	11. Chapter 11

Adagio

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB. Probably DC too.

* * *

Evey

Evey awoke in darkness in an empty bed. _Of course_. She sighed, rolled over to feel V's pillow. _How cool? How long has he been gone? _Her hand touched something sharp… _ah, a rose_. She smiled. _A simple promise in red and green_. She picked up the flower and shuffled to the door, careful of her footing in the dark. He was not in the Gallery. She could tell. A note on the table told her he had things to do. Evey made herself some tea and took one of the scones he had left for her, idly nibbling while her tea steeped.

_He has something to do. I do not._ The Gallery was already as tidy as its fussy master could make it. After twenty years alone he was adept at doing the things he felt were important. She could not cook for him. Nothing she made could possibly be as edible as what he could whip up in half the time. She could not clean for him. She was the only one who made any messes. Even silly traditional things like sewing and …_what am I thinking?_ She put her scone down. _I'm thinking like I'm his wife._ _I'm not._

Evey sat there, hunched in the hard chair. _Am I still playing the part he created for me? Am I still the prisoner? No. He freed me weeks ago. The reluctant guest? I suppose. Maybe. The host usually does not sleep with his guest, though. My role has to have changed. I must have moved up in the billing. Perhaps even to second place. A supporting role in this drama?_

She looked around for more signs or notes he may have left for her. Perhaps a hint as to what he expected from her today. Nothing. _It would be just like him to expect nothing_. In the weeks after her release from the cell he had told her to read. He had given her lists and long written assignments, fascinating treasure hunts through the Gallery, helping her see and understand connections between art and music and literature. She had enjoyed those lessons she learned on her own and delighted even more in the examinations that came weekly, when his labors were finished and he had the time to sit with her and talk about what she had learned. _Has that changed now?_

Probably not. She picked up her scone, poured her tea. _But we have talked about love. Not just the philosophers, the composers, the writers or the painters. Us. Real love, not the images of love, the echoes of love_. She drank her tea. _Shall I move away from art and into science now? Will he need my help? Will he ask for it? Accept it? Do I study Medicine? Chemistry? Psychology?_ She finished her breakfast. Rinsed out her cup and put it away. _What does he want from me?_

V

V set the small package of explosive in its place on the train, then inserted the wire and snipped the end with his cutters. He glanced back over his shoulder as he had been doing all morning. The mask lay within reach, but the possibility of needing it suddenly had never been higher. Always before he had been confident of his security here in the train tunnel. Now that Finch and Dominic had been nosing around in his tunnels, he found he could not keep his mind on his work. Security cameras and sensors notwithstanding, he was uneasy. And now Evey might come looking for him. Before, he could rely on her obedience to stay in the Gallery. _Now. Well, there is something different between a man and a woman when they have been intimate. Roles change. Evey will become bold. She will assert herself even more. _He turned back to the gelignite, inserted another wire. _She will want more_. His hand slipped. He shook his head as he picked up the wire. _This was not a good idea. For weeks I have resisted. I had closed my eyes to the truth. Now they are open and I can see everything._ He touched the wire to the circuit, set the clamp on it carefully. _I am undone by this woman and will suffer for it._

He backed away from the array of detonators and bricks of explosive. Put his gloves back on and picked up the mask. _This is all I will do here today. Too dangerous in this state of mind._ There was no danger of a premature explosion. The gelignite needed a trigger to detonate, but there was serious danger he may wire it wrong and destroy the delicate timing he needed to make the Fifth a night to remember. _I'll work on the tracks instead._

Evey

Evey set down the heavy medical text and tried to erase the images of burn victims from her mind. _He has suffered so much. And alone. If only I could do more_. She felt the warmth of her love for him spread throughout her body. She was eager for him to return. _Where is he?_ The clock in the hall began the whirring sound it made before the chime. She was ready to count the strokes of the hammer on the gong. _There. Almost dawn._ He would be coming back soon. _Unless something has happened._ She banished that thought. Any minute he should come through the door. Dirty, disheveled, tired. And Silent. Always that moment of silence. He looks at me. Like he is amazed to still find me here. _What can he say to me?_ "Hi, Honey, I'm home?" Evey squeezed her eyes shut trying to block that image. _God, no. There are no diamond rings, white gowns, picket fences or baby carriages in this love story. _She stopped. Opened her eyes wide. She put her hand over her belly. _Oh my God_. In the passion and the emotion Evey had not once considered the ramifications of what she had done. _Of course he would not have any protection, of course not. __And we did not plan for this to happen_. She began to tremble. The heavy textbook fell to the floor. Fleeting images of what he had told her about Larkhill went streaming past her eyes. Hormone experiments. _He could be sterile. Or worse_. Beads of icy sweat formed on her forehead and she felt faint. She counted how many times. Lost count. Too many times. Lots of times, wonderful times. _Oh no_. She tried to do the math. _How long has it been since my last…oh no. Two weeks? Oh no._

She heard the door to the tunnels open, turned stricken eyes upon him.

V

V came through the door, locked it behind him, and straightened the mask before turning to face Evey. She was pale, looked ill.

"Eve! Good God, what's wrong?" He was upon her in two long strides. She did not answer, but put her arms out to him instead. He gathered her up and held her tight as she sobbed into his shoulder. He looked down at the floor. His medical texts lay there open, exposed. He saw photos of hideously scarred patients, their burns and grafts garish in the light from the reading lamp. _Oh. _He closed his eyes, shutting out the images. _Poor Eve. I should have taken those books out and destroyed them. She can never look at me in the same way. The mask and the gloves will no longer be a shield_. He squeezed her tighter hoping to choke off the sound welling up from his throat. _Oh Evey_.

V held her tightly, allowed her sobbing to diminish naturally. With the toe of his boot he lifted the cover of the medical text and closed the book, eradicating the images of the burn patients. Slowly, so she would not determine what he was doing, he moved his boot and pushed the offending book under the chair to be retrieved later. _It was all too good to be true. I should have known that, but part of me wished for some semblance of normalcy. I see that now. I needed her. Needed to know I was loved. And she does love me. She does. But she cannot truly have me. We both know this now. No more pretending._ He stroked her hair until she stopped crying. When he was certain she would hear and understand him he tilted the mask and asked her, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She pulled back and rubbed her eyes. "I'm being a baby. I'm sorry. I'm glad you're home. Are you hungry?"

Her attempt to change the subject did not fool him. He stared at her, deciding whether or not to press the issue. He _was_ hungry. It was a good excuse. On the other hand, he did not want her to think he was afraid to talk about his scars. _I'm not afraid to talk about them. They have been my closest companions for nearly twenty years. Just don't ask to look at them. _"I am. But that can wait. I want you to tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just feeling emotional right now. I'm sorry if I've worried you. I'm fine. Really. Let get you something to eat. You've been gone more than thirteen hours." Down the hallway, the clock chimed the hour. 'Fourteen," she smiled sadly at him. "Fourteen hours."

"You are counting."

She stepped back so she could look up at him. "_That_ is something we _can_ talk about… after you have eaten, of course. I have long hours in the Gallery with nothing to do. You could put me to work, V. Make me feel useful. Don't leave me here sitting."

He put out a glove and touched her face, mottled red and white from the tears. There was a waffle pattern on her cheek where she had pressed it to the basket weave of his doublet. He touched the marks, traced the pattern with his gloved finger. _She is mine. _He felt the now familiar twinge of pleasure at the thought. He flipped his wrist and stroked her cheek with the back of his glove, wishing he could take it off and really feel her skin, but no. _Tonight there shall be no reminders of what lies beneath the silk and leather._ "What is for tea today? I hope it is edible," he teased gently. There was no "tea time" in the gallery. He ate his meals whenever he was hungry, whenever he was home.

She smiled. "I did bake you something, I was so bored. But I didn't plan a real meal. Are you too tired to cook?"

"Never."

Evey

Evey took his hand and led him to the kitchen; relieved she had successfully distracted him from her tears. Like any man, he could be easily manipulated by skillful emphasis on two parts of his body. First, his stomach. And second? _Well_, she smiled to herself. _He is like any man._ She glanced at the mask as he passed by her to pick up his apron. _Well, no, then_. _Not like any man_. _And what may be growing inside me may not be like any baby either. May not be human. May be a monster in the real sense_. She shuddered, felt the tears poised to flow again. She turned quickly so he would not see her face. Deep breaths calmed her. She made a motion like she would pull down some plates from the shelf, like she would set the table. She heard him turn on the faucet in the sink, open the refrigerator. Homey sounds, happy sounds, the sounds of a domestic couple preparing their evening meal. Her throat tightened and she felt a wave of nausea. _I need to know, but I cannot talk to him about this. I cannot bring this up. He would have a fit for sure. He would snap._ The thought of him collapsing so close to the Fifth made her clutch at the counter. _I need him. Everybody needs him. I can't fail them all. Mother. Father. My little brother_. _England. _A tiny sob betrayed her

"Eve? Are you ill? Tell me what's wrong."

_I must lie to him_. "It's that time of the month, I'm sorry. I feel out of sorts."

"Eve. It's not that time of the month. That's sixteen days away. You should not feel any mood swings for at least a fortnight." _Evey shook her head. He is not like other men._

He towered over her, drew her again to his chest. "You can tell me."

_But I can't_. She waited for a bigger lie to present itself. Nothing. He felt so good to her, so strong. The muscles under the silk so comforting. So competent. So deceiving. _His body is strong, but his mind…I can't risk it._ As she reached up to stroke the wig, the big lie presented itself. "I'm worried about you in the tunnels. I worry that Finch will find you. I know he is out there. I've seen him on the security monitors."

"Ah. Yes. The Chief Inspector. A clever man." Evey heard a smile in his voice. "Perhaps you can keep an eye on him for me. And Dominic too. It will calm your fears, help me out, and give you something to do. Agreed?" He squeezed her.

"Yes." Evey was amazed at how well that lie worked. She turned back to the dishes and picked up the flatware. "That would make me feel better."

"Good." V tied the pinny behind his back. "Would you like steak or chicken?"

After his supper and his bath V retired to the Lab to prepare something for tomorrow. Evey went looking for her textbook. It was gone. She looked under the chair, on the shelves. She even made a daunting foray into the great piles in the bedroom. Gone. Both medical books were gone. And she had been reading those books just hours ago. There was only one explanation and she hated to consider it. _He is censoring me_. _Should I go down and ask him about them? I suppose I must. He has to know I will be looking for them. _

Evey descended the stairs to the Lab, stomped heavily on the last three steps so he would hear her coming. She knew he did the fine wiring on the circuit boards with a magnifier and always took the mask off when he was using it. "V?" she warned as she came down the corridor.

He was ready when she rounded the doorway, just bringing his hand down from the back of his head, the mask in place.

"V? I'm looking for two books I had been reading today. They are gone. Did you move them?"

"Books?" His voice was deeper than normal, and tense. Evey frowned.

"Yes. Two medical texts, Anatomy and Physiology and Care of the Burn Patient. They are gone."

"Gone?"

Evey entered the lab, touched the Formica counter with a finger and dragged it across the glossy surface as she made her way toward him. "Yes. Where did you put them? I wasn't finished with them."

"Put them?"

_He is not doing a good job acting this time_. Evey stopped, tilted her head, puzzled. "Yes, V. I want them. Please tell me where they are."

He sighed. "They are gone."

"Yes, I know they are gone. I want them back, now."

"You don't need them. Don't worry about them. There are other books." He fingered the circuit board in front of him, drawing Evey's eye to his hands. The gloves were gone. This kind of delicate work precluded gloves. He saw her look at his naked hands and slipped them quickly under the counter.

"Oh." Evey understood. "I see. Well, then I guess I will go read something else." She turned away from him before he could see her face change. _He is hiding something. Something other than the books. What is it?_ She made her way down the corridor, stopped at the door to the surveillance room. _I'll just watch for the Inspector and read…a book on genetics instead._

She was sitting there hours later reading An Introduction to Human Genetics . She was re-reading the chapter "Mutations" when she heard the soft sound of his footfalls. She snapped the book shut and sat on it before he could appear in the doorway. She shifted once, spreading her skirt to cover the edges. The monitors beside her showed nothing but dark and empty tunnels. He took one step into the room and folded his gloved hands before him.

"Eve."

"V."

"How goes the surveillance?"

"Fine."

"Did you find another book to read?"

Her face betrayed her. She was not expecting that question and was not prepared with an answer. _I can lie or reveal myself_. Neither choice appealed to her. She did the next best thing and remained silent. She watched as he cocked his head, his hair swung against his shoulder.

"So you did," he guessed. "What did you choose?"

"Ah," she breathed.

He took another step forward, extended a glove. "Eve?"

Evey planted herself firmly in the chair. _I should have waited until he was gone again to read this book_, she chastised herself. _But_ _I couldn't wait. I needed to know now_. He was still waiting, his hand to her, asking her to stand. Asking her to come with him. _I can't stand up_. _He will see. He will guess._

"Eve?"

Her mind came up with a solution at the last second. "Sit down, V." She indicated the chair next to her. "Show me how to move the camera."

He sat down, touched the screen, glanced sideways at her as the camera obediently moved left and right. Then he turned the mask full on her. "I showed you how to do that yesterday."

"Ha. Yes. Yes, you did."

"Eve. You have to tell me what's troubling you. I can help."

_No you can't_. Her face told him so.

V

He saw her face fall, a pink flush colored her from her neck all the way to her hairline. _I'm going to have to just bring it up myself. _"It's the scars, isn't it."The look of shock on her face confirmed it. _It is. She is shocked. _She opened her mouth, closed it. Blinked. The pink flush chased away now as she blanched white. _I will have to just confront this. I have decided. No more evasions._

He drew in his breath, "We can talk about them if you want. You don't need those books. They don't tell the whole story anyway." He pulled off a glove and extended his hand, purposefully bringing it into the light, turning it so she could see all the striations, the keloids, the white lines and raised ridges. He wiggled the fingers and turned so she could see where two of the fingernails were gone. "This is enough, is it not? To assuage your curiosity? "Try not to imagine the rest of me, Evey. Please. I beg you. Forget the photographs if you can. They are not me. You know that."

"Ah, ah…"

_She cannot speak; maybe this is too much too soon_. He picked up the glove and prepared to put it back on again, but she stopped him, took the ruined hand in hers and brought it to her lips. Kissed it. She looked at him; the shock he had seen there was now replaced by tenderness. She stroked his hand with both of hers.

"God, V. Is this what you thought was wrong with me?"

"Yes. I saw you were reading my texts. You were crying."

A sad smile moved her lips. "I was crying, yes. But not about your scars. Never think they bother me. Never. They validate you. They are proof that you have survived, that you are strong, and that you can heal."

V sat quietly for a moment, thinking. He looked at his mottled hand in hers and wished he could see his scars that way. _For me, they are an ever-present reminder of my goals._ He looked up at her, realizing something else. "Then your tears? Not really about Finch, were they." He saw her face tighten again. _Don't lie to me Evey. Please. I can't bear it._

He watched her struggle with something. _Not the scars, then what? What could be causing her so much pain? Is it the Fifth? Does she suspect? _The idea that she might know what he planned rattled him. _She will try to stop me. She would ruin everything and by thinking she is saving me, doom me_.

Her face twisted and tears began to fall again. He leaned forward, picked her up and put her on his lap, his favorite place for her to be. As he lifted her he saw a book in her chair. His genetics text. "Eve. Did _this_ book upset you?" He lifted her onto his thigh as he picked it up.

She was nodding. "Evey, Evey, I'm all right. I have no harmful mutations. In fact, they have all been beneficial. I'll tell you about the ones I know exist. Stop crying. Sh sh sh," he shushed her.

He waited for her to calm down, then said, "No more tears, Eve. We have to understand each other. Trust me. Just tell me what the trouble is and we can work on it together."

"I love you, V…"

"I know that…"

"But Larkhill … I want to bear your child, but…"

_I didn't hear that correctly_. "My what? My what!" The room went dark.

"We've been intimate," her voice cracked. "And without any…protection. Many times."

"Bloody Hell, Eve. Is that what this is about? You think you are pregnant? And my child would be…" he dropped the textbook to the floor. He stood up, set her on her feet and turned away. He leaned his shoulder against the wall. He put his hand over his stomach, feeling queasy. Images of needles and vials and restraints flashed before his eyes. _So this is what she is thinking_. _Good God_, _Evey_. He felt her hands all over his back, heard her voice in his ears, pleading.

"Please, V. Please. Turn around. Look at me."


	12. Chapter 12

Adagio

Chapter 14

Rated NC 17 for sexual situations

* * *

Evey

"You are not pregnant, Evey."

Evey wished he would turn around, for his voice contained a sound she had never heard before. Never had she wanted to see his eyes more than at this instant. She took his hand and turned him slowly. He came around; the mask dipped low to his chest so that it did not seem to grin so widely. Evey squeezed his glove. Then carefully, for though she must ask this question, the answer was bound to be fraught with something unpleasant when he sounded so sad.

"How can you know?"

"I know."

"Is it…something about Larkhill?"

"Yes."

"Is it…are you…"

"I'll not play Twenty Questions with you, Eve. Please. What they did to me there, I can never have any children. Ever. They poisoned me, Eve, among other things. They took fatherhood from me as well as everything else."

Evey stepped up and put her arms around him, straightened the silk robe around his shoulders. She smoothed the silk as though she could also smooth his words and make them easier for him.

"And you know this for certain?" She realized that instead of being relieved to find out she was not pregnant, she felt empty and bereft. _I thought I was frightened to carry his child. But now I feel only disappointment that I never will_.

"I am …painfully certain." Evey cringed at the choking sound he made in his throat. He continued, "I would never have made love to you and exposed you to danger of any kind. It is my fault I have not told you before now. I have known about my sterility for so long that it is a part of me I do not think about anymore. I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner." Evey could very well imagine why he did not think about it.

He took a step back, put his hands on her shoulders and bent the mask to her face.

"You can rest assured; you do not carry a monster in your womb."

One hand slid down from her shoulder, and a gloved finger caressed her softly across her heart down to just below her belly button. Evey followed it with her eyes.

"Monster," she echoed. "No. No," though she knew that's what she had feared. Now she knew he thought so too.

"It's for the best." He whispered so softly she barely heard the words.

_Maybe he wanted children. He's thinking about Larkhill. I can tell by the catch in his breath._ Concerned, she took the hand away, tried to lead him out of the surveillance room. "Let's go. You are tired and haven't slept in nearly twenty hours. Let me put you to bed."

"Yes. I am very tired," he sounded distant, but he followed her obediently, almost docile now. Evey kept looking at him as she took him up the stairs to the bedroom, but there were no clues in his face, nor his posture, and he was not making any sounds at all. She squeezed his hand, but he did not squeeze back.

She led him to the bed and sat him down. He allowed her to position him anyway she wanted. "We will talk tomorrow. Tonight you sleep. Just sleep. We are both exhausted." She pulled back the blankets and plumped up the pillow. "Lie down, V. I'll do the security sweep and come back up. She tugged at his sash, but he caught her hand.

"I do not need to be tucked in."

She looked at him with surprise. Evey smiled at him, then kissed the top of his head. "Of course you don't." She left him there and began the nightly sweep of the Gallery, checking the locks on the outer doors, looking at the monitors, making sure the computer was running properly. _He trusts me now with his Gallery._ The enormity of the realization struck her. _I have achieved 'second billing'_. The warmth of his trust was a testament to his love. She locked it all down tight and with a final look around the halls, joined him.

She awoke in the dark. _That means he is still here_. Carefully she snaked a hand to his side of the bed. Her hand felt his warm presence before it touched the silk of his robe. Evey stopped; afraid she might wake him with a touch. _Still here_. Her eyes flicked up to the digital clock across the room. The red numbers told her it was after five. _AM or PM?_ She wondered, squinting to see the little red dot. _AM. Good. I have officially awakened before he has._ She felt a little giddy. _I can make his breakfast this time_. She thought about it, but decided she was enjoying lying there next to him too much_. Besides, if I move even a muscle he will wake up._ She knew. She listened to him in the dark, breathing slowly and deeply. _Sleeping._ She risked waking him by scooting a little closer. _Good. Safe_. The sounds of his breathing did not change. _Closer._ Now her body was almost touching his back, for he lay on his side, facing away from her. She lifted her head and brought it down on his pillow, _oh so slowly_. He did not move, did not stir.

Evey breathed him in, his scent so comforting, his warmth like a promise. The long hair of the wig lay on his pillow, tickling her cheek. She put her nose in it, enjoying having him home, waking up with him. It had been days since this had happened. He was always so busy now. Gone when she wakes, coming home hours later. She might see him on the monitors, tending to his train. Sometimes she would see a black flash on the screens, hear a blip that the perimeter had been breached. It was V. Once he waved at the camera. She smiled into his hair, remembering. _Perhaps this is like his weekend. Perhaps today he will not go out at all._

She sighed with happiness, and then heard him catch his breath. _Oh. I've awakened him. Shit._ He rolled over, the hair sliding out from under her cheek, but his arms gathered her to him instead. _Much nicer_. She felt his lips on her cheek now, better than the hair. She smiled and hugged him back.

"Good morning," he rumbled in her ear.

"Good morning," she kissed at him in the darkness, hoping to contact his face, but getting his ear instead. He laughed softly and she thrilled to hear it. It had been so long since she had heard him make a happy sound.

Evey held him tightly, "Are you staying home today?" she asked hopefully.

"I wasn't planning on it. I have so much to do. I have to…" he stopped. "But you don't want to hear it, do you?"

"I only wanted to hear that you were staying home," she allowed herself to sound disappointed. "But you can tell me if you want."

There was a long pause. Evey sighed again. Not so happily this time. She kissed at him, caught his cheek. Encouraged, she scooted closer, kissed him again. She felt the smoothness of his scarred face, no stubble, no beard, just the softness of the uneven surface. She inhaled him, kissed him again. "I love you so much. I want to hold you forever," she whispered.

He groaned, squeezed her tighter, tucked her head under his chin and stroked her hair. "Oh, Eve," he answered softly, for her ear was on his throat, "What bliss that would be. What a lovely dream." He paused, squeezed her again, "but it is time to wake up."

"No. Don't make me," she laughed.

"Eve. Denial of the truth…the inevitability…the reality…you are fooling yourself…and by doing that, you cause me more pain than I can say."

Evey lifted her head from the pillow. She stared down at him as though she could see through the absolute darkness to his face, to his eyes. "You're not talking about breakfast, are you." She heard him clear his throat. "God, V. Can't we have even a little respite? You are always so heavy. Let's just wake up and have breakfast, damn it."

This time he laughed heartily and long. Eve pinched him on his arm before rolling out of bed. "Get your mask, Kafka, and come out. I'm putting the kettle on."

Breakfast was not heavy. Evey ate her toast and eggs and laughed while he told her stories about going topside for supplies. He turned his back and slid the mask over the top of his head and ate his toast and eggs while she told him funny stories from the dormitory in the Juvie House. Life there was hard, but a room full of teenage girls will spawn any number of incidents worthy of a laugh or two. The tea was consumed, the plates washed and put away. Then Evey watched as he finished his preparations, getting ready to go out.

"Come with me this time, Eve." He said to her as he fastened the knife belt and reached for his cloak. "You can help carry the gelignite if you like. I can get done in half the time and we can have a nice supper. Would you like that?"

"Yes, of course! I'll be ready in a moment."

After Evey carried down her third load of gelignite she was glad to take a break. She sat on the floor of the train, watching V do…something. Whatever. There was not a space to sit down except right in the aisle behind him. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Near the control panel there was an empty bench that was not covered with explosives. That six feet of space was the only place on the train not packed with dangerous chemicals, but he had asked her not to sit there. She wasn't about to ask him why.

The gelignite was not especially heavy, but going up and down the stairs was tiring. She was glad for the break, and she enjoyed the view from the floor. V would turn, lift a brick of explosive, then turn and place it carefully. Then he would slip a wire in and clip it with his cutters. She watched him do this maybe thirty times, always the same motions, always slow and steady and smooth.

She very much liked when he bent down. She watched the muscles of his hindquarters tense and relax. The fabric of his trousers pulled tight when he bent over, allowing her to see the muscles move beneath it. The doublet was pleated there, and with every motion the tails would spread apart and reveal the thinner fabric beneath that covered his hips and thighs. Every four or five bends he would straighten and reach for another tool. That's when she could admire his shoulders and strong back. She loved the way the glossy hair of the wig slid back and forth across the raised pattern of the fabric. The grace and poise with which he moved produced a delicious stirring in her, she shifted on the floor, smiling. She remembered how the same muscles that were right now turning a subway train into a gigantic bomb could also grip her tightly and apply so much pleasure to her body. She looked up and down the aisle of the long train. The train was so much like a penis, hard and full of explosives…inside a dark tunnel…she covered her mouth so he would not hear her little snicker.

She widened her eyes for a moment as he bent all the way down to pick up a wire he dropped. That was too much. In that position the thin fabric of the trousers revealed a slight bulge between his legs. Twin bulges, actually. Evey put a hand over her eyes. _He's working. I can't be thinking this_. Now that the fear of pregnancy was gone, she found she wanted him with a passion. _Being inside this hard train and watching him bend over and over and over again makes me crazy_. The urgency she was picking up from his recent conduct set off a feeling of almost desperation. _He is making me think that time is running out, but it's just the calendar, isn't it? It's just that the Fifth is coming. The big day. After that we will have all the time in the world_. She did not want to wait. She imagined running her hands down the curve of his buttocks and feeling for that bulge she just saw. But the bulge was gone now; he was down on one knee reaching under the bench. The doublet now concealed his hips like a jealous lover. _If he knew what I was thinking right now he would never let me help him again_. She turned her head to hide her smirk, just in case he looked around. She saw that there were only three packages of gelignite left to place. _He's almost finished. I'll jump him then_.

When the last package had been wired, he stayed low in his crouch, but bounced on his heels just enough to turn his shoulders in the narrow aisle and look at her. "Finished," he said.

"Good." Evey stood up and approached him while he was still on the floor of the train. Always, always she was looking up at him. Now she looked down on the top of his head, and enjoyed the sight of him looking up at her. He hummed a little. She interpreted that to mean he was glad to be finished for the day. Or perhaps he was enjoying his new angle as well. Ever since he had made his opinion of her undergarments known, Evey had stopped wearing her bras. From below, he was probably getting quite a view under her blouse. He made a move to get up, but she stopped him with her hand.

"No, I'm not ready to go yet."

"No?"

"I think this train needs to be christened."

He laughed. "I have named this train. She already has a name."

Evey beamed. "I figured as much. Let me guess." She thought for only a moment. Of course. "Valerie. This train is named Valerie, isn't she?"

"Ah. She is."

"And the piano?"

"I'm afraid I never named the piano."

"Yet the piano has been christened. We will have to remedy this."

He laughed again and circled her legs with his arm, pulling her to him. "Aren't you afraid? Among all these explosives? Not all of it is as safe as the gelignite."

"No. I trust you. Besides, it's that very attribute that is making me feel…like naming something."

She let him stand up and take her hand. He looked up and down the aisle, the mask stopped at the empty bench. Evey saw him look and pulled him toward it. "Come," she said to him.

"Not there." His voice held a warning.

"Why not?" It's the only empty space on this train. And it's just about the right size. Evey wasn't looking forward to the hard plastic surface, but she knew that after the first few bumps she would forget about everything beneath her back.

"Nooooo," he said, blowing his breath out slowly, "I'd rather not." He looked around, changed direction and pulled her towards the back of the train. "There's a space here where the detonator will go."

"Oh, I like how you said 'detonator'. Say it again," she teased, following along with him.

"Detonator," he drew the word out long and slow. He placed her on a low shelf against the window at the rear of the train and put his gloves on her shoulders, then her breasts. He bent his head over her ear and hummed to her as she reached between his legs. "Hmmm," he said, as she fondled him through his trousers.

He responded immediately to her touch, springing to life, his firmness pulling the fabric tight across his fly. Evey unbuckled the knife belt and let it fall to the floor, the metal contents clanking and ringing against the steel grate that covered the floor of the train. He braced himself with both arms against the rear window, one on either side of her head. She fumbled for his zipper, released his trousers and let them fall over the tops of his high boots. She gasped, for the expected silkies were not there. _That would explain those twin bulges earlier._ He must have heard her surprise for he said, "I noticed you did not put on your bra today. I guessed you might enjoy loading a train like a canon, filling it with explosives, and perhaps detonating it."

Evey made a delighted sound as she reached for her prey, laughing at his little joke, like a canon indeed. With one hand she took him and with the other she captured his nether cheek, pulling his hips to her face. "I think I will enjoy detonating it more than anything else," she said right before she leaned forward to take him past her lips.

He stiffened even more, and breathed out such a sigh of pleasure that Evey made herself comfortable on the low shelf. She had intended to merely make him crazy with lust, but hearing him sigh was like a challenge. She would be in this to the end, however long that might be. She wanted to hear what other kinds of noises she could elicit from him.

She started slow, with just a back and forth motion to get him used to the exposure and the position. One hand guided him in and out, the other on his rump told him how far and how deep she was prepared to go. He responded well to her cues and soon they had created a rhythm that generated heavy breathing from behind the mask. Evey listened carefully, pausing when he seemed to be peaking, removing him from her mouth if he started to vocalize. When the danger had passed, she resumed, slower each time, and more careful for she knew that with each peak she was bringing him closer and closer, and she wasn't ready for the big finish. Not yet. Detonation would not be by accident, but instead a carefully timed event. Her own tiny canon was screaming to be loaded. Evey squeezed her legs together to try to hush its cries. _Not yet, I will tend to your needs later_, she told it, but its tears of desire were soaking her jeans, its sobs were making her grind her body into the shelf. Once she even had to take her mouth from him and pant, for listening to his moans threatened to send her over the edge prematurely. She had to stop, for his thrusts had become too desperate and they both were in danger of premature detonation. When she pulled her mouth away, he cried out, gasping.

"Don't stop…"

"I won't, "she lied, stopping. "I have to have a minute to breathe."

"Ahhh," he shuddered, his hips reached for her lips, he sucked in his breath loudly, suffering.

Evey felt she had enough air and took him again, but he surprised her by lifting her up and carrying her the few feet to the six feet of empty bench.

"I thought you said you didn't want to do it here," she said.

"I've changed my mind." He laid her down and lifted her knees. Her shoes and jeans disappeared; she heard the soft thump thump as they landed in a heap on the floor. One arm he placed on the bench to brace himself, the other he kept behind her back to steer her into him. Evey arched as he entered her. Not slowly, not gently, but with all the desperation she had been generating in him with her mouth. _I wanted to set off the explosion, myself,_ she thought sadly. Her disappointment disintegrated, though, as his hardness touched her deep inside and the first wave of satisfaction began to grow inside her. With every thrust she felt her own little canon loaded a little bit higher, a little bit more fully packed. Her head banged rhythmically against the bench, his breathing was coming in rapid grunts and growls in sync with his thrusts. He was ready and her soft insides knew it.

Faster and faster he pumped until she had to close her eyes, hoping she would come first. All those vain thoughts of controlling him were gone. He had her; he was going to take her. Already he was louder and louder, his groans and rapid breathing coming from behind the mask high above her head. She felt the crest of her pleasure as her canon fired. She squealed and kicked, but he held her tightly against the bench. He heard her cries and responded by lifting her hips with his arms and driving deeper, deep enough to hurt her had he kept it up longer. He shuddered once, thrust again and kept himself pressed hard against her pelvis. She felt the pulsing of his pleasure, heard him come down, panting from the exertion. He twitched again. Clutched her hips to him.

"Kaboom," she whispered, making him chuckle as he exhaled loudly.

He bent the mask to look at her, smoothed her short curls from her forehead. "I love you, Eve. Remember that."

Evey smiled up at him, reaching for the hair that dangled almost in her face. "I will never forget." He began to withdraw, Evey felt a rush of fluids follow him out and dribble onto the plastic bench under her hips. "This train is now christened," she said to him.

"Verily," he answered, a smile evident in his voice.

Just then they both heard a blip and a double beep from V's equipment.

He staggered back, one hand pulled his trousers up while the other reached for the little electronic box that lay on the train's control panel. "Security breach," he said shortly, "And it's not us. Someone's coming. Get dressed, hurry, and get back to the Gallery. Fast, Eve. No one goes in the Gallery. No one. Do you understand?" The little black box began beeping louder, insistent. V flipped it off and picked up the knife belt.

"How do I stop them?" Evey struggled with her jeans, sliding them on and snapping them shut.

"Lock everything down and hide in the lab. The Lab has a blast door that still has its locks and it is three solid inches of steel. I will make sure no one gets close to the entry. Run, Eve, and lock it all up tight." He was gone. Evey didn't even see him go. He was there, and then he was gone. She blinked.


	13. Chapter 13

Rated PG

* * *

V

V made his way down the dark tunnel away from his train. Away from Evey. He knew she would follow his instructions. He had no doubt.

_As of this moment the Gallery is hers, though she does not know it._

The perimeter had been breached at a far point. Nearly half a kilometer from the entrance, but it was the closest anyone had come the Gallery in years. His cloak whipped at the wall as he made a ninety degree turn from one tunnel to the next. _Who is down here?_ V ground his teeth. He knew Finch and Dominic had been searching the tunnels, but they had been farther away. Last month his camera caught them under Soho. Here under Bloomsbury he was vulnerable to Finch even at that distance. _I must stop whoever it is. _Only politics had kept the Chief inspector from making better progress. Sutler and Creedy were contemptuous of Finch's idea about the underground. V shook his head as he flew down the tracks. _I never thought the day would come that I would be grateful to Creedy and Sutler._ In this case the political situation was in his favor. Finch did not have the clout to draw valuable personnel from their topside positions to search the tunnels. He was forced to do it himself.

V heard another beep. He threw himself against the wall and pulled his mobile com-link from his belt. He had to pull his glove off to hit the buttons, but a few seconds later the tiny screen was linked to his mainframe and he had the second breach flashing red against the blue screen. _He's moving fast, and toward me. Damn._

_I will not wait for him to come to me, but I must deflect him from this tunnel, away from the Gallery. _He took a moment to memorize the map on the tiny blue screen before tucking it away again. He listened once, then took off. The walls were a blur and it was only minutes before he stopped again, close enough to the intruder to hear his footsteps. Just one. One man. Not a woman. He knew the sound of a woman's footsteps in the tunnel all too well.

V ducked behind some rubble, he was not wearing his hat. The hat interfered with his movements in the cramped train when wiring the explosives. He had left it in the Gallery, now he cursed his oversight. _Today was supposed to be an easy day_. He could not dip the brim to hide the glare of the mask from the light of the torch. He brought the hem of his cape up over his head but kept his eyes clear. He saw the glimmer of the intruder's torch as it neared his position.

_Ready_. A man came into view. Not Finch. V moved his hand, lifted the edge of the cape from his mask. Dominic. Detective Sergeant Stone. V looked behind him. _Yes. He is alone._ There was no sound of accompanying footfalls. No echoes of breathing, no coughing, no other sounds. Just Dominic. And he was moving too quickly, as though perhaps he had searched this tunnel already and was on his way to virgin territory. _He is only two tunnels away from Evey. From my train. He is too close._

_I don't want to kill him. He is a good man. A decent man. And Finch loves him like a son._ V lowered the cape over his head. _What to do?_

V watched as Dominic passed his position. He scrutinized the man's back as he walked away. _He is wearing a utility belt. Probably a gun. Radio. Mobile. Transponder. A satellite link. An InterLink connector._ All of them dangerous to his cause, more deadly than a man with a gun. _I have to take out the electronics without killing the man._

He rose, let the cape slide from his head. He slipped a knife to his hand and took a step into the open, gauging the distance, the quality of the footing, how quickly he could catch Dominic before his own boots betrayed him with a sound. The tunnels were terrible when it came to moving quietly. The echoes would begin and reverberate for a mile, especially if Dominic was able to scream for help. V weighed the knife. _I will have to strike him with the pommel, a head shot. And I have to hit him the first time. No mistakes. He must drop like a stone_. He smiled behind the mask. Raised his arm.

To his dismay, Dominic stopped abruptly. The sergeant's torch swung wide around and caught V in its glare. V immediately launched himself toward the detective, flying over the rubble and the puddles. _Not fast enough. _Dominic had his pistol drawn and the dark barrel pointed at one of V's eyes.

Pointed at his eye for a split second only, then the detective was unconscious. V stood over his limp form, looking at the flashing lights on the belt, listening to the warning beeps. _Bloody, fucking hell._ He raised a boot to stomp the lights, then stopped himself at the last minute. _Transponder. If the electronics fail here, they will know exactly where their detective fell_. _They will know exactly where to look_.

V bent low and whipped the belt from Dominic's waist. _I have to leave him here. I can't move fast enough carrying him._ V reached down, felt the pulse in his neck. _Alive. Good._ He straightened, looked up and down the tunnels. _No telling when he will regain consciousness_. _If a concussion, mere minutes, a fracture, hours. Maybe never._ He slid a knife from his belt and picked up the hem of his cloak. Deftly he slashed strips from the cashmere and bound the detective hand and foot. He thought about gagging him too. _To risky. If he has a concussion he will vomit and the gag will kill him. No gag and he may shout for help. _V weighed the risks. Decided this man's life was worth the danger. _No gag._ _I_ _must be back as quickly as possible, though_. He positioned Detective Stone carefully on his side, then he picked up the pistol distastefully with two fingers. _And I have to get rid of this_. He looked around as he emptied the chambers into his glove. He tucked the gun into a crevasse high up in the wall. He threw the belt over his shoulder, spread the bullets into the puddles on the tracks below the walkway and was off.

A few minutes later he was beneath what had been Covent Garden Station. Far enough away. Maybe. He looked up the stairs, listened. The belt over his shoulder continued to beep, then V heard the mobile go off. He picked up the small cell phone and stared at the display. _I can't answer, I can't leave it here_. The ring tone was garishly loud in the tunnel. _Surely someone above can hear this_. He touched the button with his thumb and the ringing stopped. _For now._ Whoever was calling would surely call back right away. V turned the ring tone to vibrate and message. He looked up the stairs again. It was still light. _Evening comes early in October, but I have at least an hour before dark, five hours before curfew. Less than an hour before Finch wonders where his man has gone_. V gripped the belt, _I will have to take this topside. I can't let it be found in any tunnel._ It would immediately reinforce Finch's ideas. _But I cannot make it the last fifty feet up those stairs. Not dressed like this._

He heard a sound. Men talking. Boots. He pressed himself against the wall, then shimmied sideways until he could tuck himself away. Four men came down the stairs, loudly, confidently. Uniforms. Fingerman all. They were not afraid of a virus. Or anything else. They stopped at the foot of the stairs and flipped on their torches. Two men were looking at instruments, mobile screens.

"Transponder is here. I have it within thirty feet."

"That can't be right. Check again." The other man bent over his gadget and adjusted a dial.

"Stone!" One of them called. "Sergeant!" There was no reply.

_You will hear no reply,_ V thought. _Detective Stone is out cold some five kilometers from here._

"Transponder here, Sir, straight ahead, looks like in that opening in the wall."

V set two knives in each hand. Four men. Four guns. He was not wearing a flak jacket today. _If the guns come out I am dead._ _Today was supposed to be an easy day. A fun day_. _My holiday_.

"Cover that entrance, Dombey. Martin, you take the tunnel to the right. Combes, you follow me. Let's take a look at that transponder."

The two men took a step. There was a loud thump as the knives struck their targets. Straight through their hearts. The men dropped where they stood. V leaped out into full view, needing the space for a backswing. The other two men were farther away and in different directions. He drew the knives back behind his head. He let fly toward the stairs, turned and let fly toward the tunnel. Whack Whack. _All too easy_. Not a shot was fired. Very little sound was made.

_But now I have five transponders, and it is still an hour before dark._

Evey

Evey ran up the staircase barefoot, not even feeling the rough surface on her feet. She pushed open the outer door, turned and locked it behind her, then flew to the security room where V had concentrated the fuse boxes and control panels. She flung open the metal door and pulled down the main lever of the outer door electronic locks. The metallic clang and subsequent flashing lights assured her that the computer was working properly, keeping watch and protecting her. Protecting the Gallery.

But not protecting V. She turned and dashed down the stairs to the surveillance room. A touch of the main dial and all the screens flashed to life, the blue glow of the monitors were fuzzy at first, then became sharp and distinct. Forty cameras throughout the tunnels, forty chances to see him. _Make sure he was…what?_ Evey trembled as she sat down in a chair, began her search of each screen. No, no, no. he was not on any of them. _None_. But nothing else was either. She touched a knob and the camera view on one of the monitors changed to a schematic of the tunnels. _There is the security breach_. She put her finger over the flashing red dot. But the camera that was trained on that spot showed no one. Not even a bird or a rat.

_Where are you?_

V

V quickly removed the belts from each of the men. Five belts over his shoulder now. One of the mobiles rang. _Bloody Hell!_ He found the offending mobile and switched it off. He took the time to disable the ringtones of the others as well. _I do not have time for this._ More Fingermen will come looking for their mates.

He bent over the first two men. They were too small for his purpose. He retrieved his knives. But one was wearing a ball cap with gold braid on it. _He must be the commander of this little squad._ V pulled the cap off the dead man. The other man had a pair of sunglasses in his shirt pocket. V pulled those out, too. He glanced at the other two men, chose the larger of the two, the one near the entrance to the tunnel. He bent down and took that man's jacket. There was a knife hole in the front but not much blood. The aim had been true and the hilt was buried in the center of the man's heart. Without a pump, the blood merely pooled inside his chest.

V took off his mask, unzipped the doublet and put on the coat over his black undershirt. The tie? _Might as well._ He slipped the man's tie from his neck. The mask came off, the ball cap and sunglasses went on. V searched the man's pockets, came up with a few pounds in notes and change. He slipped the money into the side pockets. V tucked his mask, doublet and cape in the hole and set a chunk of concrete down on top of it.

Anyone looking too closely would see the mass of scar tissue beneath the glasses, but if he bent his head, his long hair would hide most of it. And it was dusk. And people would be heading home from work, tired, not noticing a burned man. It was impolite to stare, anyway. V picked up the five belts, and took the stairs topside two at a time.

Evey

Evey could not stop searching the monitors. Any moment he might appear in one of them, striding, running, coming home. _Or not._ She felt a strange anxiety, the kind she had not felt since emerging from her cell months ago. _This is a different feeling. Some kind of amorphous fear. Fear for him. Not me. Fear that he will be caught. Jailed_. She shuddered. He would not let them take him alive. He would not go to a prison. Evey tried to imagine that scene_. How many would it take to capture him? A dozen at least. Would they shoot to kill?_ Icy fingers at the back of her neck reminded her that he had not worn a vest this morning. _Why_? He was going down to fill the train with explosives, that's why. They would hardly be out of the gallery. The train and the tracks were directly beneath them. Evey remembered. The blood in the fridge, the needle in his arm. He was always ready for anything. _But this morning. No. Why not? Because of me? Did I distract him? No. He must have thought there was no danger or he would not have allowed me to accompany him._

_He is losing his edge_. _That is because of me_. She pressed both hands to her face, squeezing her cheeks until it hurt. _And now I can do nothing but wait for him_. She looked up. _No, I can go find him. I can take some kind of weapon with me, a medical kit in case he is hurt. A backpack of supplies_…a strong voice shut her down.

_He told you to defend the Gallery. Will you abandon it?_

She looked at each monitor again. _He trusts me now with what means the most to him. I have to stay here._ She made a deal with herself. _I will only go out if I see him. If I see him and he is hurt and needs me. _She pulled the chair closer to the screen almost touching her nose to the glass, as if she could lean into the monitor and join him.

V

V bent his head and walked purposely toward the bus stop. He picked up a few curious looks from passers-by, but no one stopped him, no one stood to stare. He waited in line behind a fat man in an overcoat. It wasn't long before the omnibus pulled up. V entered the bus behind the other passengers, paid his fare with his victim's change and found a seat near the rear door. As the bus lurched into busy rush-hour traffic, he slid the belts from under his coat to the floor between his boots. A little nudge with his toe, and they nested up against the wall of the bus under the seat. A few minutes later the bus pulled to a stop near another old underground entrance. V took his place in line, exiting the rear and soon was beneath the city again, the transponders on their way around and around the city center. It would be at least an hour before they were found by authorities, and no one would know where their owners were.

_But I do. And I have to move the bodies right away before they are found_. By now it was dark, and he formulated his plan. Then Dominic. _He may have regained consciousness. He may be dead._ V pulled out his com-link and dialed into his computer. He searched the screens one by one, entering in their codes as he made his way back to the Covent Garden station.

_God. I hope I didn't kill him_. He tried to remember just how hard he had struck Dominic. _I was moving fast. I could have given him a contusion. He could be bleeding inside. A mere concussion…he would have recovered his senses by now. But no other sector has been breached. No other alarm has gone off. Finch hasn't found him. No one else is there with him. Yet._

He was approaching the station now. He put his device away, uncovered his clothing and mask. Soon he was V again, in a few hours the men were gone, their blood covered with sand and rock and chunks of rubble, and there was no sign anyone had been under Covent Garden in a decade.

Evey

Evey dozed, one eye on the screens, the other closed, her chin in her hands. Hours had gone by. There was no sign of V. No sign of an intruder. Nothing. The clock struck nine. _I'm not going to bed until he gets home. I'm not leaving this room._ She had tried to read, tried to do a puzzle. Now she just sat.

A flash on the screen brought her to full alert. She checked the next monitor. There it was again. It must be V. He was going too fast to see, he was just a blur. She anticipated the next monitor. _There. He is coming home!_ As she stood the chair scraped the floor loudly behind her. Only seconds on each screen. She could tell by the progression he was on his way home. _And there! There he is again!_ Alarms began to scream upstairs in the power room, the lights were flashing. _He isn't stopping to disarm the security system with his handheld. __He must be in a great hurry, then. Maybe he's not just eager for his supper and a kiss…maybe something is wrong?_

Evey ran up the stairs to the power room and disabled the alarm for him, turned off the clarions. The monitor in that room revealed a few seconds of cloak. She ran to the main entrance. _He's heading for the main entrance. God, he is moving fast_. She heard his pounding boots outside even before she had the door flung open for him. He brushed past her like the wind. Didn't even speak. She stared after him, dumbfounded, He wasn't alone. Slung over his back, in a fireman's carry, was a man. A bleeding man; and V had disappeared already into the corridor that led to the cells.


	14. Chapter 14

Adagio

Rated R for language

* * *

Evey

Evey ran down the hall after him. She rounded the corner in time to see V emerge from her cell alone, without the man. He stopped abruptly when he saw her. She could hear his labored breathing from where she stood at the end of the corridor. "V!" She sprinted down the hallway and threw herself into his arms. He caught her in mid air, lifted her up high, and held her hips against his own as she wrapped her legs around him. Evey put her hands on either side of the mask and cried, "Are you hurt? Are you all right? Who is in there? Is anyone chasing you?"

"No. Yes. Dominic. No." He answered breathlessly, hugging her tightly. "Has anyone else come close to the Gallery?"

"No. The tunnels are empty. All is quiet. The alarms are reset."

"Good. Good," He was breathing hard. He was hot. She could feel his heart pounding from the exertion. He bent his head to hers, touching her forehead with the mask.

"Now, oh Evey," he said when he had caught his breath, "go in and see if I have killed him. Go in. I can't bear to look." He set her down, then sank down to the floor, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. He put his head in his hands, frightening her. She stood still for a moment, shocked, until she realized he really did mean for her to enter the cell and check their prisoner.

"You put him in my cell?" She asked him, glancing through the doorless entry.

"I had to."

Evey gave him a sidelong look. _Something is wrong_. She took her eyes from him and peered into her cell. A man lay there, crumpled on the floor, face down. He was wearing a suit and tie, an overcoat. She couldn't see any other details it was too dark. Evey approached him, knelt by his head. "V!" she called to him. "There is not enough light in here. Bring me some light. And the medical kit!" She heard V moving in the hall, heard his boots go down the hallway. She knew he would be back. Carefully she straightened out the man's legs and gently rolled him onto his side. Evey saw the bloody wound on the back of his head as soon as V entered the cell, flooding the small space with light. He set the battery-powered lamp beside her, set down the medical kit and quickly backed away into the hall without saying a word to her. She glanced up as the cape flapped the door jam as he left. "V?" she called to him. "V?" He was behaving strangely. She needed to keep tabs on him. _I can't be with both men at the same time_.

She finally heard his voice from the corridor. "Check his eyes, Evey. Check his eyes. Check them. Check them. Checkthemcheckthemcheckthem." With a sinking heart Evey recognized this speech pattern. _He's losing it._ _I will have to go find him again_.

_But first I must make sure the detective isn't dying before my_ eyes. She felt the detective's neck, he was warm, breathing. His pulse strong. _I think I can leave him for a few minutes_. She stood up and pursued V into the hall. She was surprised to find he had not fled after all. He was on the floor as before, leaning against the wall across from her cell.

"V, sweetheart." She coaxed softly, extending her hand. "He's all right. He'll be all right. You haven't killed him." She moved slowly, knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you check his eyes?" V did not move the mask to look at her, but kept the eye holes fixed on his knees.

"No. I don't know what you mean. His eyes are closed, his eyes are not injured."

"Check them, Eve. Do it now."

"I do not know what you are talking about." Evey took his glove in her hand. "He's breathing regularly, and he is warm. He will be fine. You, however, you look like you need a drink. A big stiff drink. Maybe two."

V answered her as if he had not heard her. "In the kit is a tiny penlight, Eve. Shine it in his eyes and tell me if his pupils remain fixed and dilated, or if they contract to pinpoints. Do it now. Eve. Tell me so I can hear you from out here."

Evey pushed his hair back from the mask, and let her hand linger on his ear. "I will," she soothed him. "You wait here and rest. I know you are tired. I can hear it in your voice."

Eve went back to the cell. Dominic had not moved. She opened the kit and found the penlight. She tested it, flicking the little light on and off. Then she took Dominic's face in one hand and pushed open an eyelid with her thumb. She shined the light and watched, satisfied as his pupil shrunk to a pinpoint. She pushed open the other. It shrunk too. She heard him call from the corridor, "Well, Eve?"

"Both of them shrunk to little tiny points right away. Isn't that what they are supposed to do?"

"Ha!" She heard him exclaim. He sounded relieved. She put the light away. _Now I have two patients, one bleeding in ER and the other in the psych ward. _Evey went back into the hall. She caught a glimpse of cape and boot at the far end. She took off after him, catching him as he was disabling the alarm by the main entry.

"V! Where are you going?" She grabbed his arm.

"I have to clean this up. Look." He made a sweeping gesture with his other hand. Evey followed his gaze to the floor. Drops of blood made a shiny path from the entry to the corridor. "This trail goes all the way back to where I dropped him in the tunnel. Nearly half a kilometer. I have to clean it up before Finch comes looking for him." Evey listened to this rational explanation. _He sounds fine. Must be that he was just worried about Detective Stone._ "Let go, Eve." He raised his arm, breaking her grip.

"Be careful." She said unnecessarily.

"You go back there and take care of him. Don't let him go into shock."

"Ah!" she opened her mouth, eyes wide, "I didn't think of that!" she admitted.

"Blankets. Don't give him anything to eat or drink. Don't let him lie down or go to sleep. Get the trauma book, Eve. I put all the medical books back on the shelf. Now go."

He was gone. _I guess he'll be fine. I think so. He seems okay now_. She closed the heavy door behind him and set the alarm. She went to their bedroom and pulled off all the blankets and tucked both pillows under her arm and carried them down the hall to the cell. She dropped them in the entry, though, for now she could see that Detective Stone had regained consciousness. He had moved while she was gone. He was sitting in the corner cradling his arm in his lap, his head bent to his chest. She entered slowly, cautiously, but knew V would not have left him with her if he thought Stone could hurt her. She picked up the lantern and brought it closer to him. He raised his head and looked at her. He was alarmed, his eyes widened and he looked past her at the doorway, then around the cell.

"Evey Hammond," he said. His voice cracked with pain and fear. Evey lowered herself next to him, dragging the heavy medical kit closer to them both.

"Yes. Detective Sergeant Dominic Stone." She knew him from Jordan Tower, from the surveillance cameras. She had been watching him for nearly a year.

He exhaled loudly. "You know who I am?"

"Of course. I never forget anyone I have maced." She smiled at him, but he was not amused. He was young, handsome in a clean-cut way, and very competent, she knew. She also knew how much Inspector Finch relied on him, on his strength, on his youth to supplement Finch's own aging reflexes. She knew how clever he was, how thorough, and how fair. She knew who he was. _He is a good man._ _That's why V didn't kill him_.

She tried to comfort him, knowing that he probably thought he was going to be imprisoned and tortured. "I'm not going to hurt you, Mr. Stone. I want to help you."

She reached in the kit and pulled out a package of gauze. "You are bleeding," she said seriously, "I want to clean your wound and bandage it." He shook his head, then winced.

"What are you going to do with me?" He asked, glancing into the hallway again.

"Treat you. You are injured."

"I mean…" he looked into her eyes as she touched his shoulder. His blue shirt was soaked with blood around the collar, the overcoat soaked on both shoulders. "I mean afterwards."

"Let me see your head," Evey avoided answering him. Instead she put her hand on his jaw and tried to turn him. "I know a piece of your scalp is torn in the back. That's why there is so much blood. You probably have a concussion, but you are going to be all right. Let me clean it up and bandage it, then you can rest." Evey showed him the bottle of peroxide. _I don't know the answer to that question, Detective. I don't know why he brought you here._

"Oh." He looked through the open door into the hall again. Evey followed his gaze.

"He's not here," she said, finally understanding his anxiety. "He'll be back later."

She saw the fear in his eyes in the fleeting moment before he looked away from her. Evey remembered with sympathy the first time she had seen V up close. She had been frightened too. It was only natural for a terrorist to inspire terror and V is the man the two detectives have been hunting for almost a year. _And now he finds that he is the prey_. Evey felt a wave of sympathy. She reached for him again, to turn him so she had access to the back of his head. She pulled gently on his shoulder to take off his overcoat.

"Ah!" Stone cried out. He clenched his jaw and doubled over. Evey released him immediately.

"Mr. Stone! What is it? Are you hurt somewhere else?" Evey cursed herself for not following protocol. She remembered too late she was supposed to examine him for other injuries. _Where is that book?_

"My arm…" he gasped. Evey moved the lantern closer, tried not to touch him. His right arm was cradled in his lap, closer inspection revealed his wrist hanging limply across his thigh, and …she grimaced…his fingers askew unnaturally. All four were twisted in ways fingers are not supposed to be.

"Oh God, Mr. Stone," she breathed, moving the lantern back and forth to see the total extent of the damage to his hand and wrist. "You must have had a gun in that hand. You must have pointed a fucking gun at him, didn't you. Jesus. You pointed a gun at him."

"Ah," he answered, clutching his arm and pressing himself back against the wall of the cell.

"Fucking hell, Stone. Shit. He hates guns. God, you are lucky he didn't kill you where you stood. Fuck." Evey leaned back against the wall, herself, breathing in great gulps of the cool air. _No wonder V was freaked out. He probably did think he'd killed the detective. A little more force and that concussion would have been a fracture. _She imagined the self control V must have had in the dark tunnel. He didn't kill him, though. He didn't. He wanted Stone alive.

_I can bandage a bloody scalp wound. I am NOT going to set finger bones. And that wrist is definitely broken. Shit. _Both of them sat there, side by side, breathing hard.


	15. Chapter 15

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Evey sat next to the detective for several minutes, collecting herself. She avoided looking at him. She tried not to think about the ruined hand in his lap. She stared straight ahead into the hallway, through the gaping doorway. _Gaping doorway_. _Why did V bring him here?_ She frowned. _There is no door to this cell_. _Detective Stone could just stand up and walk out. Walk out into the Gallery, or anywhere else he wanted to go._ She forced herself to hazard a glance at him. _Well, maybe not_. His face was ashen, completely gray. He saw her look at him, his eyes flickered a moment before sinking back into pain and shock. _Oh yes, shock. Damn it_. _He warned me about that_. Evey shook her head hard to clear it of distractions and got to her feet. She went out into the hall to retrieve the blankets and the pillows.

She put the blankets over his shoulders and tucked them around him, careful of his injured hand. "Mr. Stone, she said gently, "let me look at your head, clean it up a little. He told me not to give you anything for the pain, I'm sorry. He doesn't want you to lie down, or to sleep. He's not trying to hurt you; he's worried about your concussion."

"Worried?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yes." Evey picked up the gauze and the brown peroxide bottle and positioned herself behind him with the lamp at her elbow. With a tug and a snap she pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took a deep breath. _You can do this_. He shuddered as she touched him, but otherwise made no attempt to hinder her. It took several minutes to clean enough blood away from the matted hair for her to see the wound. V had slammed him against the tunnel wall. She could see that clearly. She touched the triangular flap of scalp that hung down like torn wallpaper. _This has to be sewn up. Shit shit shit. Maybe he will do it._ Her mouth formed a firm line. _No, he won't. He will make me do it. And the fingers too_. She felt queasy. She had a fleeting thought about taking the detective topside and leaving him near a cabstand to be taken to hospital. It was a delightful thought and she let herself indulge in it for a few minutes. _I can't sew it without anesthetic. I have to wait for him, anyway._

Evey gently pressed the flap of skin back in place, her stomach tightened as Stone growled. _It must really hurt. I know it does._ She put a square of gauze over it, and wrapped the rolled bandage carefully around the detective's head. She moved the blankets just far enough to give her some access to his clothing. He let her unbutton his coat and peel it away from his body. She used scissors to cut the sleeve away from his injured arm. She removed the coat, the suit and his shirt. There was more blood underneath.She wiped the blood from his skin, sorry that the peroxide was so cold. _This would be done better in the bath with warm water_. He twitched when she touched him. He was well-muscled and lean. She saw evidence of time in a gym all over his back and chest and arms as she wiped him down. His smooth skin was strangely shocking, the little curls of chest hair a curiosity. _I have grown accustomed to V. Seeing perfect skin, or any skin for that matter, seems abnormal_. When he was clean and the peroxide gone she replaced the blankets around him. He was very tense. She couldn't blame him. "How does your head feel?"

He did not answer, but glared at her instead. His dark eyes smoldered. Evey felt a twinge of regret. _I'm not used to being glared at. I'm not used to being the enemy._ _I know him so much better than he knows me. If only he knew the truth._

"He'll be back soon." She meant to use her words like a weapon. Her aim was true, for the defiant glare immediately widened into anxiety. _Yes._ _Be afraid. I'd rather see fear than hatred in your eyes. _She made herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged next to him. _Time to wait_.

It seemed like hours before she heard his footsteps in the hall. She had propped the detective against the walls of the cell, in the corner. He was sitting quietly, not sleeping just as instructed. Just waiting, pale and rigid. Evey rose to greet V as his cloaked form darkened the doorway.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're back," she said, meaning every word.

"How is he?" V held up a syringe. "I have something for him now."

"Come and see for yourself." Evey stepped aside to give him room to approach the detective. She was surprised at how quickly Dominic moved. He came up off the floor like he had been launched. He positioned himself close behind her with the wall at his back, his broken wrist supported in his left hand. The blankets that had been around his shoulders hit the floor with a dull thump. She heard his ragged breathing high over her head. She turned around to face him, looking up, astonished. Detective Stone's eyes were wide, his face now very white. He was even a little green around the mouth. His whole body trembled. "Oh, V," she said, "You've scared him to death. Look at him. Back off with the damned syringe."

V responded immediately by taking a step backwards into the hall and lowered the syringe to his side. Evey lifted a hand to Dominic's bare shoulder, steered him back down to the floor. "Sit down, Detective. If he wanted you dead you would be. He's not going to hurt you anymore." He sank down obediently, but did not take his eyes from the dark figure in the doorway. She could see that he understood the logic of her statement, but his fear remained. _Logic plays no part in fear, however. This is a man who has seen firsthand what V can do with a syringe._ To V, she said without turning around, "Tell him what's in the syringe."

"Morphine. I assume you have seen his hand."

"Oh yes. Yes, I have, I have indeed." She picked up the blankets and put them around the detective's shoulders again. She said to Dominic, "Let him do it. You will feel so much better. If you don't we will have to set your hand without it." This last statement reached him through the fog of his panic. When he turned his eyes upon her they were no longer full of hatred, or fear. They were just big and brown and desperate. She glanced up at V and beckoned for him to enter. V swept in, creating a breeze in the airless cell. He knelt beside them both, lifting the syringe and forcing a tiny drop to appear on the tip of the needle.

"Give me his left arm," he said to her.

Evey obeyed, lifting the detective's arm and turning it so V had access to the inside of the elbow. "Don't you have to tie his arm off with one of those rubber thingies to raise a vein?" She asked him, proud of her partial knowledge.

"I don't need a 'rubber thingy'," he said. Evey watched as his left hand encircled the detective's bicep, and squeezed. Stone stiffened with a gasp as a vein popped up right down the center of his forearm. V slipped the needle in with his other hand and depressed the plunger. "Done." The needle slipped out and V tossed it aside. Dominic immediately slumped, his pupils dilated, and then a slight smile thinned his lips.

V repositioned him upright against the wall and tucked the blankets around him firmly. "I'll bring you a wrist brace, but you need to find the finger splints that are somewhere in this kit and the tape."

"You're going to make me do it?" she asked, alarmed.

"Yes."

"I don't want to. You do it. Please, V."

"I can't, Eve. I have to get back to the monitors. There is a massive search for Detective Stone and four other Fingermen I…detained. I have to keep watch and listen to the police broadcasts. You will have to do this. You can do this. Remember? All you need is a book." He touched her face with a gloved finger. "You've done it before."

"Set broken bones?"

"No. Saved a life."

Evey leaned forward and kissed the mask quickly, catching the ends of his wig in her hands and tugging just enough for him to feel it. He ruffled her curls, trailed his glove down her neck and squeezed her shoulder. "I will be in the surveillance room."

V

_I am going on twenty hours now without sleep. This is brutal_. He whisked an apple from the countertop as he strode through the kitchen. _I need tea. Strong tea_. He put the kettle on, and pushed up the mask. He crunched the apple while he waited for the water to boil. _I will need Eve to sleep for me, so she can watch the monitors later and give me a break._ He glanced over his shoulder. _And I have to put that door back on_. He filled his teapot with the darkest Pekoe, thought for a moment then doubled the quantity. He poured the boiling water in, picked up a cozy and a cup and went downstairs to watch his monitors.

The tunnels were silent. The police frequencies were not. He took off the mask and put on his headphones, brought his teacup to his lips. _They are looking everywhere but here. _He breathed into the steam_. Good._ He tapped the keyboard and brought up the camera he had placed in Finch's office. _Not that I expected to find him there. Still scrambled_. V had never been able to plant a functioning bug or a camera anywhere near Finch's space. _It was worth a try, though. _V remembered that adventure in the police station, dressed as a janitor, emptying wastebaskets, planting bugs. The inspector used a scrambler everywhere he went. Even in his own house. Especially there. V tapped the keyboard again. Dominic's flat was different. Detective Stone had not placed a scrambler in his flat. He probably believed he was not important enough to be under surveillance. _He should know better_. V had a camera in the detective's sitting room, and that's where he found Finch. _I guess he neglected to bring a scrambler with him this time_. _And no wonder he is not thinking clearly._ Half a bottle of scotch stood on the table next to his arm.

The older man looked more haggard than usual, sitting at one end of Dominic's sofa. V sighed. _This is what worried me the most,_ _that Finch would suffer_. Voices in the headphones told him that Finch had been sent home by Sutler himself. But instead of going to his own place Finch had gone to his partner's. _Understandable. Someone should be there if Dominic should just show up. He won't… but it is a logical thing to do._

V adjusted the volume on his headphones. Apparently Finch had hit someone with his fist. Some other party member. V listened carefully_. Yes. He had punched Heyer in the face. Broke his nose_. Reports were coming back from hospital. Heyer was recovering at home.

V switched frequencies, trying to find another conversation about this incident. _There_.He listened to the explanation.Two policemen were talking about the Chief Inspector being on paid leave for forty-eight hours, sent home by the High Chancellor. One of them said, "Oh, aye, I heard that Heyer said that Dominic was prob'ly dead. Heyer said, 'tough luck, old man, there's another good bloke you gone and got killed.' And then the Chief Inspector hauled back an' decked him good. Simpson saw it happen. He told me." V took another sip of his tea. _I knew I liked Finch_. He looked at the monitor. He remembered sadly the day Finch's last partner had been killed. He finished his tea. _I had nothing to do with that_. _It's dangerous work_. Now he thought deeply as he watched Finch empty another glass. _How much more can he take? And I don't mean the whiskey._

Evey

Evey smoothed the last piece of tape. Dominic was still loopy. He had smiled foolishly as she had set each finger carefully in the splints, pulling on the bones until they lined up and checking the anatomy book's photographs of X-rayed hands. _He may still be crippled. But I can't think about that now._ His scalp had a few stitches; his wrist and hand were now firmly secured in the brace, wrapped tightly with tape. _I hope I have done a good job_, she said to herself. _But the morphine is going to wear off_. V had all the drugs in the cabinet in the bathroom. That cabinet was not locked, but she was not sure which pill bottle to take or the proper dosage. The pharmacology book at her feet probably could tell her what she needed to know. _Too bad I can't understand a word of it. I need him to come back and tell me._

And he did come back. This time he was carrying a folded cot, an army issue camp bed. He unfolded it in front of her and locked the legs. "Be careful not to bounce too hard on it, it has a weak leg." He indicated one of the wooden legs; its lack of structural integrity obvious, for it was wrapped in duct tape.

"What do you mean?"

"I need you to sleep. At least three hours. I can't have you go to our bed because I don't have this door on yet and I don't have time to attach it right now. You'll wake if he tries to climb over you. And I can give him a tranquilizer now to make certain he stays out. He's out of danger. He hasn't vomited, has he? Spouted gibberish? Fainted?"

"No. He _has _grumbled a bit."

"That's actually a good sign."

"I feel bad sleeping on a cot when the detective is sitting on the hard floor." They both turned to Dominic, propped up in the corner, asleep inside a cocoon of blankets.

"He feels nothing, Eve, and he needs to stay upright at least for twenty-four hours. You lie down. Sleep for me. I'll need you on the screens by dawn."

She nodded. Some time later he wakened her, gave her instructions and took her place on the cot. Evey made her way to the surveillance room where a pot of strong tea waited. A pad and a pen next to the keyboard told her that V had been busy all night. He had written notes about the equipment and the best frequencies to tune to for information. He had also written down what was being said about Stone's disappearance.

The authorities were uncertain about where he had originally entered the tunnels. They were searching some kilometers south of Soho. She laughed when she read V's note about the transponders. He had somehow got five of them onto a city omnibus. Headquarters, reading the signal on their computer, had assumed the four Fingermen had found Stone and were traveling with him by car. It wasn't until hours later when none of the five men responded to their mobiles that the ruse was discovered. By the time they had stopped the bus and found the transponders, all possible clues were gone.

She laughed again between sips of tea. _God, He is so smart. I love him so much. I can't wait until after the fifth and we can take some time off. Maybe leave the country_. _Go to Paris_. She imagined the chaos after the fifth. A lot of people would be fleeing the country. _Does he have a passport? Can he get me one? Of course. He can do anything. And he can dress up like a Businessman and I can be his Mistress. We can leave the country from Scotland. Security is not so tight there. I can get us a car and drive us north._ She finished her tea and picked up the apple he left for her, crunched it. A delightful fantasy was forming in her mind. _No, no, not the Businessman, the Blind Man. He does a fabulous Blind Man, though I'm not fond of the beard. Too scratchy, like kissing an Alsatian's arse. But yes, the Blind Man is my favorite, because I get to play the role of his nurse and lead him about by the hand. I like that disguise best because I get to pretend that he needs me._

A warning beep brought her out of her reverie. The beep alerted her that something within a frame had moved. She touched a knob and watched as her monitor picked up a man in a flat somewhere. She looked at the camera code. _Oh. Dominic's flat. Who? Oh._ She put down her apple core. _The Chief Inspector_. He looked terrible. Evey zoomed the camera in on his body. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, fingers through his curls. Beside him was an empty bottle. Evey pursed her lips. _He thinks Dominic is dead, doesn't he._ She looked at V's notes. _Yes. They are searching, but they do not think they will find him alive. They found the bodies of the other four Fingermen near Soho. _An ominous pair of government men have been sent to Dominic's mother's flat in Chelsea. _And here is Eric Finch, looking like Death himself_. Evey felt hot tears in her eyes.

"Eve." She turned around. V was standing behind her chair; he smelled like soap and was wearing a fresh doublet, his boots polished and his hair glossy. He looked like he was ready for anything.

"Has it been four hours already?" She asked, glancing up at the digital clock on the monitor.

"Yes. Why are you crying?" He pulled up the chair next to her and sat down.

"It's the Chief Inspector. Look at him." She touched the monitor with the back of her hand. "He's all broken up, V."

"Yes. He is taking this rather hard."

"Can't we do something?"

"What? You weren't thinking of giving him a call, or writing him a note?" His tone was tenderly mocking.

"Send him an email. Or an instant message. Or text message his mobile."

"Eve. That's impossible."

"Please. If he breaks down…"

"He won't."

"I've never seen anyone look like that. He is really suffering. I can't bear knowing he is in such pain and that we are the cause of it. If he should go to pieces, such a good man…already he is relieved of duty."

"Just for a couple days. He'll be back in the office soon enough. Sutler needs him too badly to remove him permanently."

"He's going off the deep end, V, I should know. I can tell. And look, he has finished the whole bottle of scotch. He looks like he is going to lose his mind. Look at his eyes."

"He won't. I've been watching him nearly ten years. I've never seen him break down. He keeps it all inside. He has seen many things too horrible to even mention, Eve. Worse than this. Much worse. He has lost three partners in his career. The whiskey is how he deals with it. Just leave him be. He will recover. He always does."

"But if he doesn't, if he breaks down…promise me you will get word to him that Dominic is safe. You know he loves him like a son."

"I know he does. I know." V put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about him."

"I am worrying. This is terrible. Promise me you will tell him. If he breaks down you will tell him."

"Fine. I can promise you because I know he won't."

A dreadful sound emerged from the monitor's speakers. The two of them were stunned to silence. The sound was quiet, it was muffled, but it was unmistakable.

Evey turned to V, her eyes bright with tears. "There. You were wrong."


	16. Chapter 16

Adagio

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB.

* * *

Evey

"Send him a note." Evey squeezed V's arm, insistent. She stared at him intently, not allowing him to move or evade her.

"How? Anything I do might be traceable."

"You can do it. Make it a ransom note or something. Write it on paper and mail it from Cheapside or something. Tell Finch that…uh…tell him that if they keep searching the tunnels you will kill his partner. Or some red herring thing, I don't know. Tell them you are planning to bomb Downing Street and Detective Stone will have the detonator strapped to his chest. Anything to let him know he is alive." Evey paused, she was getting no response from V, no clue that any of her ideas were valid. "V?"

After a moment he nodded slowly, watching Finch on the screen. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "maybe later."

Evey sighed. She crawled into his lap and hugged him. "Thank you. Thank you so much." He shook his head side to side, his hair brushed her face. "But it would make things complicated. If Dominic is presumed dead, then the search for his body is half-hearted. If they know he is alive and a prisoner they will be diligent and thorough. They may set their computer experts on it. It is a dangerous risk, Eve. I don't like it. It's bad enough I had to bring him here in the first place."

Evey pressed her cheek into his shoulder, hugged him harder. "Why did you?"

He did not answer her. "Eve. Go check on him. You can try to feed him now. Here." He handed her a metal key.

"Oh. You put the door back on. I see." She stared at the key. "Can't we put him somewhere else? I mean, gosh, V. That cell? I can sleep on the sofa or that cot. Let's put him in the bed at least for the first few days. Until he's off the pain meds."

"No."

"I can't talk you out of it?"

"No."

"And antibiotics, V. He needs them. There aren't any here. He'll get sick."

"I'll get him some. Ask him if he's allergic."

"Fine." She climbed down from his lap and tucked in her blouse. "I need to eat something too. And take a shower. What should I feed him?"

"Ask him." He was flipping though the screens quickly, spending a few seconds on each one, looking for something.

"Uh huh," she said. He was obviously not paying attention to her. "I'll feed him the rest of your pate."

"Fine." He said, adjusting a screen's resolution.

Now she knew for certain he wasn't listening. She smiled and gave him a pat on his shoulder on her way out.

V

V glanced after her. _She had better not feed him the last of my pate_. He turned back to his screen. He typed a coded message to Finch. _Read it, my friend, and keep it to yourself. _He pushed the "enter" key and sat back_. Now. _The Chief Inspector was asleep, slumped over on the sofa, unlikely to being doing anything cognitive for some time. _I've done what I can. In three weeks none of this will matter anyway. _He looked at the door into the corridor where Evey had just been. _I don't want him in the bed, Evey. I don't want him in your bed_. He put his elbows on the table and covered the mask with his hands. _Not yet_.

Evey

After her shower and her supper Evey slid the little key into the lock of Dominic's cell. She balanced her bundle of food and supplies on one hip. She heard only the slightest of clicks. The lock had been well-oiled, the tumblers fell smoothly and released the mechanism. She pushed the heavy door inward.

"Detective Stone?" she called. The lantern continued to illuminate the cell with its cheery yellow glow. He was lying on the cot exactly as she had left him some hours before. His strong body looked weak and broken in the half light. She set down her bundle, then knelt on the floor beside him. She had seen him healthy. She had felt his strength. She rubbed a small scar on her forehead. He had struck her once. _After I maced him_, she remembered grimly. _I would have hit me too_. She touched his forehead, just beneath the white bandage that was wrapped around his head. He was hot. _I knew it. He should have been given antibiotics immediately after he was brought here. That tunnel is filthy. No telling what he picked up when he hit that wall._

Stone's eyelids fluttered at her touch. "Mr. Stone. How are you feeling? Do you need more drugs?" Evey lifted the blanket to look at his wrist and hand. It was swollen, and the fingers were discolored. Her stomach tightened. She didn't know if it was supposed to look like that. Again she fought the strong urge to take him to hospital. _It is natural to want to give him to someone else to fix. I wish V would come down and look at this. Maybe he would know. Of course he would know. _But V was avoiding this cell and its occupant. _Almost like he wants me to take responsibility for this prisoner._ She picked up Dominic's left wrist and looked at her watch. His pulse was fast, how fast is too fast? The two medical books lay on the floor under the cot. She had read the relevant chapters over and over, but nothing gave her confidence that she was doing it right, that she wasn't causing the detective to suffer more than necessary, or that she was doing everything a professional would do for him.

Dominic opened his eyes. _Such pretty eyes._ Evey thought about how strange it felt to talk to someone and see their eyes. _I have been in the Shadow Gallery a long time_. His pupils were still dilated. Evey touched his cheek with the back of her hand. _So hot_. "You have a fever, Detective." She said to him. Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Can you eat? I have brought you food. And some water."

"Water. Please."

"Of course." Evey moved closer to him and lifted his shoulders. She set the cup to his lips and held him while he drank. He lifted his left hand to the cup, touching her fingers, and tipped it up. "Slowly, Mr. Stone, I have more." He was so hot. His head on her shoulder almost burned her. She fumbled with one hand to refill the cup and set it against his lips. Again he tipped it himself and drank. _I should have come sooner_. _I think he needs ice._ When he was finished she lowered him back to the pillow. "Can you eat?"

"Ugh," he sighed.

"I guess not. Are you allergic to penicillin? Anything else?"

"No. No allergies. Finch?" he turned his head slowly to look up at her. She knew what he was asking her. She winced.

"The Chief Inspector is not here. He's in your flat, actually. He's sleeping."

"Ah," he said, obviously relieved.

Evey opened the medical kit and selected the digital thermometer. She touched it to his forehead and read the display. _I need those antibiotics now_. She got to her feet, ready to go and get V, but he appeared in the doorway.

"I have brought a little of everything," V, said lowering himself beside her. Dominic's eyes widened in response to his new visitor. The sound of rattling plastic came from the bag V held in his hand. "It would have been better to have him on an IV, but I could not procure that on such short notice. I have pills instead. All kinds. Is he allergic to anything?"

"He says he's not."

V opened a canister and took out a colorful capsule, held it out to her.

"How many? How often?" Evey poured more water in the cup.

"One every 4 hours."

Evey took the capsule from him and slipped it into Dominic's mouth, then lifted him and set the cup to his lips again. To V she said, "Look at his hand and tell me if it's supposed to look like that."

V lifted the edge of the blanket and looked at Dominic's fingers in their little splints. "Yes. That kind of bruising is normal. Make sure he gets plenty of water and monitor his temperature. I'll be downstairs."

"V. Wait," Evey said.

"Yes?"

"Does he have to stay in here? Can't I move him?"

"He is my prisoner, Eve. He stays here." V stood and left the cell, gone too quickly for her to think of a retort.

She lowered Dominic back to his pillow. "I guess you are his prisoner and you will stay here." She tried to soften the words with a smile, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

Dominic whispered, "Why didn't he kill me?"

"He doesn't kill _everyone_, you know. He's very selective." Evey titled her head, tried to reassure him. "He likes you. I know he does. Maybe that's why."

"What?" Dominic blinked.

"You need to rest. I'll change your bandage and maybe you will feel like eating in a few hours."

* * *

Evey smelled something delicious in the kitchen. Something that brought back pleasant memories from her childhood. She looked in the oven, on the stove. _Oh. There it is. A crockpot._ She lifted the cover with a hotpad and allowed the steam to drift across her face. _Chicken soup_. _Of course_. She replaced the cover and went looking for him.

She found him in the dressing room. Dressing. "Oh. You are going out."

"Yes."

Evey watched him buckle on the knives. She lifted his hat from the clothes tree and stood next to him, waiting to hand it to him when he was finished. He fastened the cloak, ran his fingers through the wig to get any stray hairs out of the collar. He held out a gloved hand for the hat.

Evey gave it to him. He set it carefully on his head, checked the mirror. She stepped up to give him a little hug before he left. Felt something. "Uh, V?" she ran her fingers up and down his chest. "What's this?" It wasn't the Kevlar.

"Something sturdier."

"Oh God. Where are you going?" She asked very softly, not sure he would tell her. "Can you tell me where you are going, so I can watch for you on the cameras?"

"I'm going to Creedy's place. I have two cameras there, but if I do everything right you won't see me at all."

"Creedy? Oh my God." Evey frowned, trying to imagine why he needed to go there. It was like going into the lion's den. Why? "You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"You are going to kill him then?" _That must be it. That's the only reason to go to that man's house._

"No, not tonight."

Evey tugged on his sleeve, knowing it was a futile gesture, but making the gesture just the same. "Then why go? It seems so risky. And the Fifth…not so far away. Do you want to risk that? Parliament? The Train?"

He straightened his knives, checked the electronics on the back of his belt. "You know how to work The Train. If you have to you can send it to its destination."

It seemed as though all the blood rushed from Evey's head to her feet. _He was not supposed to answer like that. _She swayed against him, her fingers now icy. "Ah…" she found she could not speak._ He was supposed to agree with me._

He lifted her chin. Evey looked into the black eye holes. He said, "I have to talk to Creedy about something. Something more important than you or me, or even The Train. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Close your eyes." She did. She felt the hardness of his metal mask on her face. Felt it move just a little, the nose poked her and then it dragged across her cheek. Then she felt his warm lips on hers and responded eagerly. She took his bottom lip in her teeth and held it there. He rumbled a low laugh in his chest. "Lemme go, Eve. He kissed her harder until she had to gasp for air, letting go of his mouth. He stepped back and adjusted the mask, now smiling that frozen smile again.

"I'll be home soon," he said. "Look for me around three. Go give the Detective his soup. Read him some stories. Read him _Animal Farm_. I put a copy on the bed."

"I hate keeping him in that cell."

"I know. It won't be for long." He stroked her cheek with his gloved finger then turned on his heel. Evey watched the cape swirl out the main door and disappear.


	17. Chapter 17

Adagio

Rated R for strong language.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

* * *

V

The interview with Creedy went well. V was certain he would find a chalk mark on Creedy's front door sometime in the next week. He paused outside the Gallery. _But I'm not ready to go in, yet._ He sat down in front of the door and stretched out his legs, rubbed his knee where a bit of rheumatism was beginning to plague him. _I won't have to worry about that getting any worse_, he thought grimly as he flexed the joint.

_I only have to worry about Evey_. He sighed and pushed the mask up over his head, taking the hair with it. He pulled off a glove and rubbed his face and scalp, getting some circulation back. It helped. The air was cool on his face, the rush of oxygen cleared his head. Breathing inside the mask increased the amount of carbon dioxide to his brain beyond what was comfortable. He was used to it, but in the past he wore the mask infrequently. Only needing it on occasion. Other disguises for going topside were more comfortable, and there had never been a need to wear it in the Gallery before. _I've worn it more this past year than in the previous fifteen_. He rubbed his face again, replaced the wig. Straightened it. Looked at the mask distastefully before pressing it to his face and tying the bands behind his head. _Time to go in._

He opened the door, locked it behind him. The Wurlitzer was humming an old Blues standard. He kept his footsteps quiet as he visited each of the rooms on the main floor. The cinema room, the television, the art, the sculpture, the music. He paused at the bedroom. _No, She is not in there_. The door to the cell corridor was open. _She's in there_. He moved silently down the hall to the last cell. _No. She is not here_. He put his hand on the heavy door. _Locked. Good_. He listened. Inside the detective was asleep. _Good. She must be in the surveillance room._ He retraced his steps, went downstairs. _No_. He felt a twinge of alarm now. He had passed the gym, the storage rooms. He had heard no sounds. Where could she be? "Eve?" He called, turning his head to pick up any response. He pushed the mask up just enough to clear his mouth. "Eve!" He called much louder this time. Still nothing.

Now alarmed, he strode quickly up the stairs to the security room, and tapped the computer there. Ribbons of code scrolled down the screen. He stopped it with a touch. _There. She went out. 10 PM, an hour after I left. She disabled the main door. She has not returned. _He glanced at the time in the bottom of the screen. 3:43 AM. His mind went blank for a moment. _This can't be. Where? Nothing is open this late but the all-night chemist's shop. If she had gone to the chemist's for the detective, she would have been back by now._ _Would she have told him where she was going? Maybe._

He practically flew down the hall to the cell. _She has the key._ He looked in the obvious places she would have left it for him. Nothing. _If she had not planned to come back she would have left it here in plain sight._ He was shocked he even had that thought. _Why wouldn't she come back?_ _God. If I have to wait for her I will go mad. _

He banged on the door with his fist. "Stone!"

He listened. Banged again. _Damned Morphine_. Banged louder. Kicked. "Stone!" His voice was a veritable roar this time. He heard a rustle inside, the broken leg of the cot creaked. He quieted his breathing so he could hear a response. But nothing. Silence. Nothing. _Bloody… Fucking… Hell_. He stepped back and kicked the door hard enough to rattle the walls. Booming echoes reverberated around him as he bellowed, "Stone!"

"Ah…what?" _Finally, a response_.

"Where is she?" He banged the door with his fist again.

"Who?" the voice was faint. V leaned his forehead against the steel door, embraced the door with his arms. Collected himself. He brought his voice back to normal only with great difficulty. "Eve. Where… is… she?"

"I don't know. She is not in here."

_I know she's not in there._ "Did she tell you where she was going?"

"No. I didn't know she was gone."

"When did you see her last?"

There was a long silence. V was about to repeat himself when he realized why Stone had not answered. _There is no way a man on opiates without a clock can answer that question._ V tapped the forehead of the mask against the door a few times. _Think_. _Ah_. He stood up straight. _The cameras. I just have to rewind. I have a three-day loop_.

He ran back to the surveillance room, whipped off the mask and sat down before his screens. She had disabled the locks and the lasers at ten. He adjusted a dial and tapped another screen. Then she went into the west tunnel, disabling the alarms as she went, and re-setting them behind her. V frowned beneath the mask, sat back in his chair. She couldn't do that unless she had a com-link. He stood and went to the cabinet on the other side of the room. Inside on a shelf there lay a single remote computer access device. There should be two here. _She took one then_. _And something else is missing_. With a gloved finger he pushed the bits of electronics around so he could see far to the back. _She took a scrambler. Oh no._

Back at the panel of monitors V tapped the keyboard, then yanked off the gloves to be able to type faster. He scrolled through all forty tunnel cameras, then searched for the scrambler's code on any of his others.

At midnight the code for that particular scrambler appeared. _Not surprising. I know she had to have taken it for a reason._ It appeared at Dominic's flat. _Huh. She went to his flat. Finch is there. And now, of course, I have no picture_. Only the gray static of interrupted signal hissed on that screen. He fast-forwarded the tape. At 12:45 AM the picture returned. He moved the camera. Saw Finch. The Chief Inspector was still on the sofa, stretched out this time, no longer slumped over the arm. His face appeared relaxed with the relief of deep sleep. V checked the cameras in the area surrounding the detective's apartment. He tapped into Norsefire's surveillance network, entered the codes from a notebook at his elbow and searched for any sign of Evey. Nothing. He lifted the headphones and put them on. He listened to the night-talk of the Ears on duty. Nothing. He felt his shoulders tighten and his guts twist inside him. _Where is she?_

Evey

Evey paused outside the Gallery. _I'm not ready to go in yet. _She set down the heavy baggage she was carrying and rubbed her shoulders. She glanced at her digital watch. The faint glow read 4:15. _I know I am late. I am so late. He has probably returned. He is going to be angry. _She braced herself for the expected onslaught when she opened the door. _He probably knows I'm here right now. God, I don't want to go in. This is awful. I can wait for him to come out and get me. He won't dare shout in the tunnels._ _He wouldn't dare make any loud sounds out here._ She smiled to herself. _Clever_. She sat down on the cement just outside the door. _I'll just rest a minute. I must have walked ten kilometers_. She tugged at her throat, untied the strings to his cloak and let the cashmere drift to the ground. _He is going to be so angry. So angry._

She heard pounding in the Gallery. _Here he comes. Oh God. God_.

The door flew open, the hinges protested with a screech. The sound the door made as it banged the wall behind him resounded like a bomb through the tunnel. _Ah. I miscalculated_. _He is more than angry. Fuck._

"EVE! Goddamn it! I know where you've been!"

Now Evey looked around, frightened, listening to the echoes of his words in the tunnel. _He's going to give us away. Shit_. She stood up and brushed passed him into the Gallery trying to get him to follow her and keep the angry reverberations within the Gallery and out of the tunnels. He followed her inside and slammed the door behind them. Evey cringed, half expecting to feel those hands on her. But no. He spun around and put both fisted hands to his ears like he would squeeze his own head to a pulp. He cursed curses she had never heard before, even in Juvie Hall. She was aware her mouth was hanging open. She closed it. He turned to her, his voice feral, "How could you leave like that, for hours? He extended a long arm, the gloved finger pointed at her head. "And what in Hell are you doing in one of my wigs? Bloody Christ. Fucking Bloody Christ! And the cloak. What the…" and now Evey blinked, for now he was completely unintelligible. The stream of words coming from behind the mask held a definite meaning for her, though, for the tone was enough to let her know how completely he was engulfed in emotion. _He loves me_, she reminded herself shakily. _That's why he is so angry._

She caught a few words, "sacre"… "merde"…_Oh Lord, he's shouting in French. He's cursing me in French. _She widened her eyes as he punctuated the French invective with violent arm gestures, boot stomps and wild swings of his head. Evey's knowledge of French was limited to food and wine and just a little bit of the less-than-polite terms. She had no idea that V was fluent. _Good. It will come in handy when we go to Paris. _

_But maybe not all these words he's using right now, though._ She took a step back as his volume continued to increase.She felt the wall behind her, against her shoulders. Evey put her hand to her head when he pointed at it with a menacing finger. She slid the black wig from her curls. She clutched it tighter when he roared something about "perruque" and "maudit".

"V." she kept herself as calm as possible. _He's going to have a stroke_. _He's going to stroke out and there is nothing in those medical texts that can help me with that_. "V!" she raised her voice. She needed the volume to get past his own ranting diatribe. Louder. "Shut up and I'll tell you. Christ, man, shut up! Do you think I'm going to let you scream at me for the rest of my life?"

He did shut up when she said that. His boots stilled, the waving arms dropped to his side. His hair stopped flying around his shoulders, but it was now a hopeless tangle. Strands were still floating upwards in the air; as static from the violent friction against the silk on his shoulders lifted them toward the ceiling. She stared at him, awed at the sight. He stood before her, hunched a little, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for air from behind that mask. _How can he breathe? I don't know._ She had tried the mask on once before. Never wanted to wear it again. "V. Yes. I went to Dominic's flat. I had to."

"No you didn't 'have to'! Tu es completement debile!" and he went on and on in French again, though not with as much energy. Evey waited. He was getting tired. She dropped the "perruque" to the floor and extended a hand to him. He quieted, his invective slowed, the tone modulated, he switched back to English. "Evey. How could you?" The last word ended with a little cracking sob. She took his hand.

"V. Let's go sit down. I am exhausted. Please. And let me bring in my baggage."

"Baggage?" He turned the mask toward the door.

"Yes, it's right outside."

"Outside the door? Oh my God, you've been followed. The Gallery. Oh God." He pivoted on his heel and disappeared so quickly he was gone before she could draw a breath to respond. Evey heard the distant sound of his boots on the stair and the pounding footsteps below let her know he had returned to the surveillance room. _I was not followed_, _V. Show some confidence in me, here. _Evey sighed, reached behind her waist on her belt and removed her computer communication link. She flipped open the cover and touched the pad. The little blue screen lit up and showed her exactly what she wanted to know. The security system in the tunnels surrounding the Gallery's entrances were secure. No violations, no breaches, breaks or malfunctions. She knew that right now he was looking at the same screen down below. _This was a perfectly executed mission, and I am the only one proud of it._ Almost perfect. _If I hadn't had to walk the ten kilometers back, I would have been here before three and would have avoided this confrontation. _She put her com-link back on her utility belt and opened the door. She retrieved her two pieces of baggage and his cloak, locked the door again, and carried the bags through the gallery, past the piano and into the cell corridor. She heard the pounding boots on the stairs again. _Here he comes again_.

Evey set down the baggage and had the cell door open before V made it into the hallway. She hoped having Dominic as a witness would dampen his temper. She glanced up at him as he swept through the corridor, and then he was upon her. Looming. Silent. _He saw that I did everything right. There has been no security breach. I am not injured. Nothing is broken, destroyed or discovered_. She pushed on the door. _If you behave you can come in_, she said with her eyes. He touched her shoulder. Whispered, "Evey". His voice was understandably hoarse. His posture told her that his anger was gone, the rage diffused. She took the glove from her shoulder and kissed the palm. "Let me do this first, V. Then we can sleep. Are you as tired as I am? Will you lift that medical kit," she nodded toward the kit in the hall, "and bring it in for me?"

"Huh." _He is making that sound he makes when he blows air through the mouth hole_. It is a tired sound, a resigned sound. She knew what that sound meant. He bent down and lifted the kit.

"Come in and sit down. This won't take too long," she said to him. V took a long step past her and sat down at the foot of the cot, depositing the medical case by her leg. He moved the light for her, pushing it closer to the detective's head. Dominic lay there on the cot, watching them both. His eyes were wide, interested, alert. _Too alert._

"I'm sorry, Detective. I was gone longer than I had hoped to be. You are overdue for the antibiotic, and the morphine must have worn off hours ago. Is it bad?"

His eyes told her it was. She felt a familiar stab of remorse in her belly. _Having a prisoner is a great responsibility_. The idea that she was the cause of so much pain was unbearable to her. She winced. _But it is not me. V is responsible. I am trying to stop the pain. I am fixing it. I am helping to make it go away. I am the antidote to V. I am his opposite._

Evey knelt by his head and fumbled in the kit for the drugs. She helped him sit up. "V? Will you pour me some water?" V poured from a pitcher under the cot and handed her the cup. She tucked the antibiotic between the detective's lips and followed it with the water. Stone swallowed, then she gave him the pain pill. He swallowed again. Evey wiped the drops of water from his chin with her thumb. "I found your prescription," she said gently. Evey turned to the gym bag she had brought in, unzipped it and pulled out an orange prescription canister. "It says here one a day. Is that right?" Dominic nodded. "Let me give you one now, and then every morning after this. He can get you more when these are gone." She nodded toward V as she tapped the canister on her palm, spilling out a single blue tablet. She gave him the pill and pressed the cup to his lips again.

"What are you giving him?" V asked quietly.

"He gets migraines, V. He's on maintenance drugs for them. He has to take them every day or he gets vicious cluster headaches." She helped Dominic lie back, adjusted the blanket around him. "I came in to give him his soup tonight. I found him on the floor. It scared me to death. He's been without the drugs for three days."

"God."

"Yes. It was horrible. I felt so helpless." Evey put her hand on Dominic's forehead, smoothed his hair back from the bandage. "I gave him morphine. I hope I did it right. I put as much in as you had before…I had to use one of those rubber thingies, though, to raise the vein."

"God. And I banged on your door. I'm sorry," V said to Dominic.

Dominic looked at V. "'S all right," he voice was tight, but calm. The detective's eyes moved to Evey. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "He was worried about you."

"I'm fine. I had no trouble. And the migraine…it didn't come back?"

"No. I went right to sleep."

Evey took a deep breath. "Good." She turned back to the gym bag. "I brought you some other things, too. I brought you some clean clothes, your shaving kit, what I can assume is your favorite tea. It was in the kitchen next to the kettle. And this," she reached in and pulled out a little photograph in a frame. "Is it you and your Mum?" She handed it to him. He took it in his good hand and held it before his eyes.

"Yeah. That's my Mum."

"And this one. Your mates on the football team?" The detective lowered the photo of his mother to his thigh and took the one she offered him. "Yes. This is the team photo from the District Championship my last year in school."

"I can see you here," Evey pointed to a younger Dominic, handsome and athletic, in a football jersey.

"Yeah. That's me."

"I thought you might like to have these. You know. While you are staying here."

There was an awkward silence. Evey smiled a half-smile and picked up the gym bag. "You sleep now. I'll be back in a few hours with breakfast and we'll see about cleaning you up a bit. A bath and a shave." His jaw was already dark with bristles. "Clean clothes." V stood and took the gym bag from her hand.

"I'll carry that for you. You want it in the loo?" His voice was strangely quiet.

"Please. Thank you." Evey closed the medical kit and picked it up. "Goodnight, Detective." Evey locked the cell door.

Evey followed V out of the corridor and to the loo where he set the gym bag down by the clawfoot tub. She returned the medical kit to its place by the metal cabinet. V stood there by the tub, drooping, head bowed, waiting. His whole posture told her how miserable he felt. She stepped up and put her arms around him.

"I love you." she said. "It has been a long night. Let's go to bed."

"Oui."

She laughed as she squeezed him tighter.

"Je t'aime, Cherie."

"Ah, that is the French I prefer. And 'Bordeaux' and 'flambé'. Please. Not any other kind. At least not tonight."

He leaned over her and flipped the lights off. In the darkness she heard his mask hit the hard floor. He kissed her then, her lips her face, her eyes. His breath was hot on her skin. When her mouth was free again she said, "In the loo, V? Aren't you completely exhausted?"

"No. Yes." He gathered her to him, she could feel the heat that radiated from his body as he engulfed her. "I am sorry I lost my temper." He kissed her head, her ear, her neck. "I'm sorry. I just want to feel you now. You are here. You are safe."

She felt his hands on her back, on her hips, her arms. He rubbed her all over.

"I had to go," she told him.

"I know." He brushed her lips with his, "I couldn't see you," he murmured.

"Not anywhere?"

"No."

"La. I did it. I did it, then. Not even on the bus? You didn't see me anywhere?"

"No. Not for a moment."

"Brilliant!" She pushed him away. "You can feel me just as easily in bed, and I'm about to drop. I rode the bus there, but I had to walk all the way back, with both bags. No buses or taxies after 10:30."

He answered her by scooping her up in his arms. She closed her eyes for him as he carried her to the bed. She kept her eyes tightly shut while he took off her shoes and the utility belt, unbuttoned her blouse and tugged at her jeans. She felt herself enfolded in the cool sheets and the warm blanket. Then she heard him leave to make the rounds. The soft pillow behind her head was pure bliss. She stretched out her legs and arms before allowing herself to relax completely. He came back and shut the door. She heard the rustle as he shed his clothing. The bed lurched as he climbed in beside her.

"God, Eve. What a night."

She laughed softly. "There's more, you know."

"Oh no. What?"

"The other piece of baggage I brought back is the Chief Inspector's briefcase."


	18. Chapter 18

Adagio

Rated NC-17 For sex. Raw and feral.

Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Evey awakened in the dark again. She loved waking in the dark. Dark meant he was still beside her. She felt his warmth. She rolled closer, scooted up so that she could press his head against her breasts. He stirred and put his arms around her and breathed on her neck. Evey stroked his head, feeling the warm smooth scalp, the soft ridges of his scars. He had somehow lost the wig. _There it is, on the pillow_, she could feel it with her elbow. He murmured something about "perruque" but kept his face buried in her arms. _Oh, I am so sorry I worried him last night_. Evey kissed the top of his head.

_But I had to go_. She remembered opening Dominic's door and seeing him on the floor. The cot had collapsed where the weak leg had snapped spilling him out onto the hard floor. She had set the food down and gone to him, kneeling, touching him. He was writhing on his side with his teeth clenched, his eyes tightly closed, his broken hand tucked up against his chest. The sound he was making chilled her. She shuddered remembering the agonized moaning. Her first thought had been that V had been wrong, that Dominic had suffered internal bleeding and was dying right before her eyes. But when she touched his shoulder he rolled over onto his back and looked up at her. The eyes when they opened were not the eyes of a dying man, but the eyes of a desperate one.

Evey moved her hand to stroke V's arm. He responded with a low hum, moved closer to her, and draped one leg possessively over hers. Dominic had unclenched his teeth long enough to whisper in a gravelly voice, "migraine." Evey had been relieved at first, as bad as a migraine might be, it was not fatal. She went to the medical cabinet and returned with a syringe and quickly relieved him of his pain. The decision to go to his flat had come soon after that. She had reset the cot, using a finger splint from the kit as a shim in the joint of the broken leg. Then she helped the detective to lie back on the flimsy bed. He had told her about his medication as she waited for him to fall asleep beside her. When his eyes had closed and his breathing deepened, she had placed his injured arm carefully across his chest and covered him up. _He is my responsibility_.

Evey sighed, hugged V's head to her breasts again. Collecting the equipment and planning the raid on the apartment had been fairly easy. She had been watching the monitors enough to know where every Norsefire camera between the Gallery and Detective Stone's flat was placed. Finch was the only unpredictable variable in the equation.

She had entered the apartment easily, the door was not locked. She knew from the cameras that Finch had deliberately left it unlatched and ajar. She imagined he was indulging in some kind of irrational human weakness: sympathetic magic, perhaps, inviting Dominic to come back, to come home, to return. It was touching in its simplicity, its childish hope. Evey set the scrambler in the doorway. She watched the Chief Inspector carefully for a few minutes before going inside, but Finch was out cold. He did not stir as she glided past him to Dominic's bedroom. The prescription canister was in his bathroom, the photos in their frames by his bed. Evey found the gym bag in his closet and it was only a matter of minutes before she was ready to leave again. It was the Chief Inspector who delayed her this final time. As she readied herself to slip past him on the way out, he groaned in his sleep. Evey flinched. They are both in pain. _I can drug Dominic. But Finch? This kind of pain will not go away with a needle_. She turned back to the bedroom, found paper and pen in Dominic's nightstand. She scribbled a note. She didn't care if she left fingerprints or DNA. If anything, those clues would merely authenticate her words.

"Inspector," she wrote. "Your partner is alive." Evey paused, thinking what else to add. _I guess I don't need to say anything else._ She longed to fill the note with more words, to explain the need for a desperate act on Parliament, on freedoms, on integrity, on human rights. She itched to write a thesis and give it to him. But those four words would have to suffice.

As she approached the sleeping man, her eyes swept the room for a good place to put the note_. Ah. His briefcase. I'll put it in there_. But then another idea occurred to her. She moved as close as she dared to Finch, bent down to look at his face. Worry lines and sagging wrinkles marked him with their harsh facets . Time and tragedy had left those marks like scars on his face, too. Evey smiled sadly. _Each of us must bear this burden, and we each do it in our own way._ She rolled the piece of paper into a cylinder and slipped into the neck of the empty whiskey bottle, half in and half out, like a white cork. She bent to lift the briefcase. It was heavier than the gym bag, but she suspected the extra effort would be worth it. _V will love to see what's inside this. It is like finding the Holy Grail_. She retrieved her scrambler and passed through the door. _Like a professional_, she smiled to herself, _my first solo flight_.

V moved, awake now. He twisted himself away from her. "Eve. How do you feel?" he asked.

"You should know; you've been feeling me all night." She wanted to hear him laugh, and he did.

"I mean how _do_ you _feel_? You had a long walk, were up late. Do you need to stay in bed today?"

"Of course not. I'm fine. I needed eight hours. I got them. How are you? You were out late last night too."

"My throat is sore."

Now it was Evey's turn to laugh. "No doubt." Tell me what 'debile' means."

"Oh no. No. No. It's best if we forget about that."

"I never will… I"

"Oh, don't say that. Please. I am so sorry. I am." He rolled over to her, and kissed her mouth. Finding her in the dark apparently was easier for him. Evey always missed his mouth on the first try.

She pushed him up and away from her face so she could answer. "I'm not upset. I wasn't last night. I know I frightened you. I knew you would be angry with me. I was ready for you. At least I tried to be. Anyway, I think that had you been indifferent to my absence I would have been crushed."

"Hmmm," he murmured, going for her lips again. "Good point. I am sorry I called you an idiot, though."

"You called me an 'idiot'?" Evey pushed him harder, playfully laughing. He clutched her tighter, his deep chuckle in her ear.

"You are not getting away this time." He raised his body from the bed and covered her with it. He was nearly twice her size and formidable in his strength. Evey put her hands up to feel his chest looming over her, he was wearing a cotton tee. She felt his muscles moving under the fabric as he positioned his strong arms on either side of her shoulders. His knees framed her legs and his feet pinned her legs beneath him. "I have caught you," he said. Evey ran her hands down the shirt to the waistband of his silk boxers, and below. He jumped a little as soon as he realized what she was doing. He needed both arms to support his weight and so could not stop her from collecting his dangly bits in her hand. He immediately responded to her touch, "Maybe you are getting away. Yes. You just might escape. In fact, I think it is bloody likely that I will set you free."

The change in his voice from dangerously sexual to maddeningly funny was too much. Evey cracked up. She released the captive parts and put her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him, moved her hands to his ears and jaw. He permitted her touch him, to see him in the dark with her hands. Her thumb strayed to his cheek. Her fingers wandered up to his eyes. He pulled back then. _Too close_. "V," she said. He came back when she called him, returning her kiss. She responded to his silent request by removing her hands from his face. Instead she put her hands on his hard and bulging arms which were straining now to keep him elevated above her. She ran her fingers over them, delighting in his power. _I feel so safe when I am with him. Even here, in the Gallery, where there is no danger. I feel so protected, secure. Such a lovely comforting feeling. So much pleasure from that kind of trust_.

Another pleasure beckoned. He arched his back and lowered his body until he touched her. She felt his hardness along the top of her thigh. _Oh my_. She smiled in the dark. _Am I ready?_ He made a sinuous motion with his hips stroking her leg with the rigid length of his erection. An answering gush from between her legs made her aware that she was, in fact, ready for anything.

"Evey?"

He didn't need to say any more. She reached down and hooked her thumbs under the elastic of his waistband and pushed the silkies down. They hung up briefly on that enchanting obstruction before she could run her hand over his back, across his equally firm buttocks and push the elastic over and down. Freed now, he bent again to kiss her as he entered her slowly. Or tried to enter her, that is. Only the tip was able to make its way in. He made a disappointed sound in his throat and Evey opened her legs wider, shifted her hips, trying to help. He pressed harder, and Evey gasped as the relentless piece of flesh made its way into her body, pushing and stretching her from the inside, finally coming to rest as deep inside her as it was possible to go. He pressed a little harder against her pelvic bones, and she felt him expand inside further, becoming so large she gripped his thighs and pushed in a desperate attempt to get him to pull back. He would have to go slowly, or she would burst.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked.

He was, but she would not tell him so. She did not want him to stop, and she knew he would back out if he thought he was causing her pain. She was aware that the shock of his considerable presence inside would blur to a warm satisfaction as soon as her own body's arousal caught up with his. It was just a matter of time. Already her body was responding by shooting forth additional lubricants. "Move a little," she answered, "just a little, and you will find your way a bit more pliable." She wiggled beneath him to suggest what she meant.

He obeyed her, withdrawing very slowly and then sliding himself in deep, lingering tantalizingly until their hips locked again. His movements spread her wetness throughout and she smiled again as the pain faded and the pleasure began. "You were a bit hasty, I believe," she murmured, "but everything is alright now." _More than alright_. The walls of her inner parts shimmered with electric anticipation. She couldn't help but move her hips again to feel him there. "Yes, oh, it feels good now." She inhaled long and slow in response to his pressure on her body.

"Does it?" She could not identify the edge he had etched on his words. There was a desolate tone in his voice she had never heard before. She ran her hands along his arms and shoulders. She held her breath to hear him better. After a pause he suddenly thrust hard into her two times, then three. Evey closed her eyes, an unintentional physical reaction to the sudden stimulation between her thighs. Unlike before, he seemed preoccupied, less attentive. High above her his breathing grew louder, regular, cadenced. He increased the tempo, shaking the bed, making the headboard thump the wall and the books bounce. Evey was rocked with each vigorous thrust; she gasped for air between violent shoves. _He is not waiting for me this time_. _This is different_. _There is a subtle difference in him._ She held on to the pillars of his arms that caged her on either side of her head. She held on like she feared she might fall off. _No, I take it back… not subtle at all. He is not thinking. This is raw, he has relinquished his mind and permitted his body to have me._ Evey winced as another powerful thrust threw her against the pillows, knocking the air from her lungs. It was hard and rough, but the energy he was transferring to her was palpable in more ways than one. In the disorienting blackness around her, his vigorous movements were the only sensation. She tried to breathe with him, to get a feel for his need, but he outstripped her.

His arms bulged and relaxed in alternating rhythm as he pummeled her with his driving hips. Evey gave up trying to hang on and as soon as she relinquished any thought of controlling him, she felt the first surge of an impending orgasm. _This is intense_. Her whole body felt the result of his assault; the sensations were not restricted to her clit or her soft inner folds. She felt him all over her. Her thoughts were stilled by another surge, this one higher as the rhythmic breathing above her became voiced now. _He is close. He is almost keening._ Evey took in a deep breath. Inside her she felt him swell as he did before every orgasm; _that means only three or four more thrusts_, _and Oh! _Every nerve in her body lit up like a fuse. Powerful streams of pleasure radiated out from between her legs to jolt each limb, each hair on her arms stood up. She gasped for him to be finished, but he wasn't. She wanted him to slow down, allow her to savor her climax and release her to float blissfully in her pleasure, to come down softly like he usually did. But he didn't. Not this time. His next thrust threatened to smash her, then the next obliterated any coherent thought she might have. She opened her mouth and called for him to stop. _Futile. He is deaf_. He pounded her again, she heard him make a deep throaty cry, "Ahhhrgh," and with the last thrust, the pillars of his arms disappeared, she felt his strong hands on her hips, clutching her and lifting her to grind her body into him. He forced her to him again and again as he shuddered violently with his release. She felt him stabbing her deep inside, her very guts quaked with it. Evey drew another breath to shout that he was hurting her, but could not connect her brain to her voice.

Then it was over. He lowered her hips back to the sheets, breathing loudly like a stag at the end of a chase when the hounds are poised to strike. He was still inside her, but no longer hard, no longer stabbing. Now he was softer, gentler, no longer a weapon of lust, but a lambswool wand. His chest rose and fell; his gasps loud in her ears. He touched her belly with his fingertips. "God, Eve. I couldn't help it. I had to get inside you."

"Ah." Was all her mouth could say. Her body was lit with sensation, her vibrant orgasm mingled with the electric residuals of his violence. It was a strange feeling. Pain and pleasure. She licked her lips. "I feel…"

"How do you feel?"

"Dunno. Like…" She squeezed her muscles around him and he gasped, her internal grip on him set off a involuntary thrust once more, his spine reacting with that primal response.

He said, "That, ah, ah, ah was the last, ah, of it…I think."

"The last of what?" She teased, knowing he had no control of his muscles. His thighs were trembling.

"Uhnnn, He pressed into her one more time. "Almost. There. Ahhh."

Evey laughed lightly. "I feel like I've been through the wringer."

"You're laughing, so it can't be that bad."

"No, no. It's just that I've never had it that way…"

"What way?"

"You know. Rough."

"That was rough?" He sounded genuinely puzzled.

"God, V. It wasn't gentle." She arched her back, encouraging him to get off and let her breathe a bit easier.

He pulled himself out and she heard the silkies being adjusted. "I didn't know. I…just wanted to merge with you."

"And did you?" Evey was curious.

"Yes." Evey felt his lips on hers again, then they brushed her cheek. "I felt…"

"Yes?" Evey prompted him. His voice had a dreamy quality to it now.

"I felt…" he paused too long; his voice was heavy this time, thick. Evey could not see his face, his eyes. She had no clue what he was trying to say to her. She reached up blindly, feeling for the sound of his voice. There. _His chin_. She cradled his face in her hands, and tried to bring him down for another kiss. He resisted.

"Please don't forget me, Eve".

"What? Never…"

"I have to go." His face withdrew from her hands. She felt the bed bounce a little as he got up. The door opened, the room brightened for a moment, then the door closed again. He was gone. Her hands were empty. And they were wet.


	19. Chapter 19

Adagio

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

It helps to have read Nightmare. There is a bit of a crossover here.

* * *

Evey could not find V anywhere in the Shadow Gallery, yet the space didn't have that empty feeling she associated with his absence_. Is he hiding?_ She made as much noise as possible as she banged around the kitchen getting Dominic's breakfast. She hoped he could hear her wherever he was. _Perhaps he is still upset about my little adventure_. She opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of neatly folded towels. _Dominic is having bath this morning. _She put a basket on the table, towels, scissors…_what else_? The bandages and medical kit were already in place. His shaving kit too. 

When she had everything she needed she took the basket to the loo and started the bath. Evey looked over her shoulder every now and then, knowing she could not hear V's footsteps above the sound of the pouring water. She was a little nervous about bringing Detective Stone out of the cell. He was practically crippled, and heavily sedated, but she had felt the muscles under his skin and knew what he was capable of. _Would he try to escape? Would he hurt me?_ Then a more frightening thought came to her, _would he break something? _She turned off the tap. _I need V. I have to find him before I get the detective._

Evey dried her hands on a towel and stood up. She began her search of the Gallery. He was not in the usual places, the lab was empty, the gym desolate. The three storage rooms she checked echoed with emptiness. She went down a level. The Surveillance room hummed with electronic activity, but there was no human presence. She considered calling to him, paused there. "V?" she made it as plaintive as possible, gentle, in case he was upset. She listened. Ahead she heard a scrape. She followed the sound, repeating, "V? Are you here?"

"Here I am, Eve." She heard his voice coming from a room at the end of the corridor. He was calm; the voice was strong and deep. No hint of distress. She sighed with relief as she rounded the threshold. This was a new room; she had never seen this one before. It was a small room, paneled in oak, the floors covered with a large oriental rug. There were only three pieces of furniture inside, a huge roll-top desk, an overstuffed leather chair and a filing cabinet. He was sitting at the desk, papers everywhere, a pen in his hand. At his feet lay the Chief Inspector's briefcase.

"Ah, you have an office," she breathed as she looked around at the walls. All the paintings were landscapes. Instead of windows in this deep underground office he had paintings of broad expanses of moor and field. She smiled. "And it's a corner office," she teased.

He laughed softly. "I earned it with my long hours and devotion to the company," he answered. "I'm glad you came down. I was just going up to find you."

"Oh?" Evey went to him, bent down and kissed his head. He was immaculate in his silk doublet, a fresh wig, the auburn one, and a gleaming mask. He did not appear any worse for wear. Evey squeezed his shoulder. "I was worried about you."

"There seems to be a lot of that going around," he answered. He pushed back the chair with his long legs and patted his knee. "I'm sorry there is only one chair. There has never been a need for two." Evey sat on his thigh and put her arm around his shoulders.

"What are you doing? Did you look inside the briefcase?"

"Just a little administration, and not yet. I will later. I had something more important to do this morning. Look what I have for you." His gloved hand reached into the desk and retrieved a little booklet. Evey recognized it as a passport. He opened it up and showed her, tilting his head so he could see her face. The first page held a rather flattering photograph…of her.

Evey gasped, reached for it. He let her take it from him. "Evelyn Abernathy," she smiled. "Is that who I am now?"

"You are."

"This is a beautiful forgery."

"Thank you. You will find that the chip and the barcodes inside are equally of high quality and workmanship. With this you can go anywhere in the world."

"And yours?" She frowned, looking on the desk for a matching passport.

"Ah," he breathed. "Mine is more complicated."

"I imagine it must be. Who will you be?"

"I will be who I am, Eve. As always."

"No, of course not. You can't . You'll never get through security as Guy Fawkes." She laughed a little, still happy about the new passport, but he did not laugh with her.

"I have some other things I need for you to sign, Eve."

She set the passport down and leaned closer as he brought a small stack of papers to the edge and placed a pen in her hand. "Practice writing 'Abernathy' over and over again for a minute, then you can sign these. There are about ten documents." He bent over a drawer and retrieved more papers. Evey obediently wrote 'Evelyn Abernathy' on the pad he gave her until the script flowed effortlessly from her fingers.

"Good," he said. "Now here." He pushed a document towards her and indicated the bottom line.

"What am I signing?"

"This is a signature card for my bank accounts in Switzerland."

Evey sat up straight, pen poised in the air. "What? You are giving me access to your money?"

"Better than that. Look closely." A long black finger indicated the line next to hers. Evey read, 'Henry Abernathy'. She went back and read from the top of the page.

"Oh my God…you…you've made me your wife!"

"Yes. Sign here too." He dragged a smaller document from the pile. Eve had no trouble reading this one. It said 'Certificate of Marriage' across the top in ornate copperplate. She signed it, her handwriting wobbled a little near the end. "Don't be nervous, Eve." He admonished. "Here's another." He touched the last line of this paper too, right by the word, "Beneficiary". She signed several more without reading them.

She felt a little weak. Set the pen down, dazed. "So you are Henry Abernathy…"

"In Switzerland I am."

"Do I get a ring?"

He laughed this time, hugged her to him. "As a matter of fact," he held on tight to her with one arm as he had to bend all the way down to pull out the bottom drawer. When he straightened he had a black velvet box in his glove. He used both hands to open it beneath her nose. "Voila." Nestled inside were two rings, a delicate solitaire diamond and a matching platinum wedding band. Tears came to her eyes.

"Oh…" words failed her.

He slipped them both on, quickly, with no ceremony. "Remember, if you are asked, the date. Can you remember that? Some years back. Memorize it."

"And the date?

"November 5th, of course." He flipped up the Marriage License so she could see the date and the year written clearly at the top. "They will ask you. And there is this, too." He leaned forward and lifted a heavy folder, brought it back to her. "These are the deeds to my properties."

"What? You are a landowner too? Where did you get…how could you? When?"

He tapped the folders with a finger. "They were left to me, too."

"Too? What do you mean, 'too'?" Evey stiffened, suspicious now.

He stared at her, still and unmoving. A statue. _He knows he is inscrutable when he does that._ Evey stared back.She struggled to glean some sense from the unreadable mask; her eyes traveled up and down the white porcelain, the cheery grin mocked her attempt._ Useless._ She broke the awkward silence.

"V?"

"These are dangerous times," he intoned slowly. " I am merely creating some order among the chaos."

"Order?" She said it defiantly, daring him to continue. He didn't. She waited for him to reply. When it became obvious he didn't want to talk about it she said, "You've lived in dangerous times for some ten years at least. I have complete confidence in you."

"Good," he said, the word was tight, clipped. Not 'good' at all.

She changed the subject. "Do I get to go shopping now?"

He laughed, but it sounded a little forced to her, like he was glad she had changed the subject. Another drawer held a purchasing card, 'Evelyn Abernathy' printed boldly across the top. He flipped it expertly, like one of his knives, and offered it to her between two gloved fingers. "Shop, my love. Buy anything you want. But don't leave the Gallery until after the Fifth. I mean it. No more sneaking out."

"I might need some things before the Fifth." She was thinking of the Mini Cooper, the tickets, the petrol and traveling clothes. She wanted to get things for a nice celebratory dinner. Reservations in Paris. "Is there a limit?"

"No. No limit. That account has several hundred thousand pounds in it. Use the computer if you must shop now. Have the things shipped to this address." He opened a small black book and indicated an address at the top. Evey held her breath. _Several hundred thousand pounds? This account? There are more?_

"This is the address I use to order?" She heard her voice tremble.

"Yes."

"Is that how you ordered all those masks and capes?"

"I ordered them two years ago from a costume manufacturer in China. Arrangements were made very far in advance."

"You are an amazing man."

"I do my best."

She stretched her left hand out in front of her and looked at the rings on her finger, shook her head. "You didn't even ask me."

He startled a little, then stiffened up straight in the chair. "I'm sorry. It was necessary to cover all possibilities. You can't have the passport without the rings. Someone would notice. You are listed as married. That's the first thing they do, they will check your hand."

"Do you have one?" She looked down at his left glove. He moved it out of sight.

"No."

"Won't they check your hand too?"

"Don't you have a bath waiting for the detective?"

"Oh my god!" Evey jumped off his knee. "I completely forgot, it's probably cold now, and he is starving. Oh shit." She ran to the door, remembered at that moment why she even came looking for him. "I might need you. Do you think Mr. Stone would try to escape? Do you think he could hurt me?"

"He won't hurt you, Eve. And yes, he would try to escape. He is weak from the fever, but he may stumble about trying to get to the door. You should be able to control him with a good grip on his broken arm." He demonstrated by gripping an imaginary arm in the air and twisting his wrist. "A firm twist and you'll send him screaming to his knees."

That made Evey feel queasy. "Ah…I don't want to send him screaming to his knees, V. I just want him to come quietly, get his bath, and go back to sleep."

"Then I'll come help you if you want."

"Please. Maybe if you gave him a sedative or something. Don't…don't hurt him any more."

His head shook once, his hair swung back and forth. "We need to get him off the barbiturates and the opiates. I'd rather not sedate him, and I'll hurt him as many times as necessary. If he lays a hand on you, Evey..."

"Then please come. Just the sight of you will make him behave."

"I'll be right up. Go feed him."

Detective stone was standing in the corner when she opened the door. He had the blankets wrapped around his shoulders. It was rather cool inside. Evey pushed the steel door open with her foot and set the tea tray on the cot.

"Detective. Mr. Stone. Please. I have brought you some food." As always, his first glance was to the door. "He's coming," she answered his glance. "First you must eat. Then I can give you your drugs. Then a bath." The bath was definitely necessary. The whole cell smelled unpleasantly like a locker room after the big game. The bandage on his head needed to be changed. Evey fought the urge to clean the cell with disinfectant while he ate. She knew if she even started something like that she would never stop scrubbing_. I hate this place. _He stepped over to her, never took his eyes from the doorway as he sat down on the floor, the cot between them like a low table. "Do you take sugar or lemon?" Evey lifted the lid of the little sugar bowl. _He is a sugar man. Finch takes lemon_. She knew from watching the monitors.

"Sugar. Three lumps, please." _Three? He usually takes just two_. His dark eyes finally abandoned the open hallway and watched her instead as she dropped the white cubes with tongs into his cup. She poured, then pushed the cup and saucer toward him, the little teaspoon tucked under the handle. He stirred awkwardly with his left hand, watching her. "Will you join me?" he asked softly, his eyes darted down to the tray, then back to hers.

Evey smiled. There were two teacups on the tray. It had seemed outrageous to have him take tea alone so she had put another cup on for her. She poured her own, no sugar, just a little milk. She sipped it while he poured himself a second cup, with more sugar. She pushed the little plate of pastries across the tray. "No toast this morning, Mr. Stone. I made some but it got cold and crunchy. I thought a bit of pastry might be more appealing instead. These have jam in them." She indicated a turnover and a Danish. V had baked them the day before. Yesterday seemed like a year ago.

He looked at the food with hungry eyes. Evey could not help but feel a twinge of regret. _I am so sorry he had to find us. Sorry V whacked him, sorry he got too close_. She pushed the plate again, insisting. He glanced up at her before taking the turnover and demolishing half of it in one bite. Evey smiled. The turnover was gone and he picked up the Danish, raising his eyebrow at her. "I've eaten, Detective. This is all for you." He made short work of the Danish as well, poured himself another cup of tea. Evey heard a familiar step in the hall. So did Dominic. The teacup froze halfway to his mouth. After a moment he set the cup down and used his left hand to bring his injured arm close to his chest. He sat up stiffly just as V appeared in the doorway.

Evey stood up to greet him. "V."

V stared down at Detective Stone. "How is he?"

Evey appraised their prisoner. He was unkempt, pale and sallow, bits of blood caked his hair and he smelled terrible. Dark blue patches bloomed under both eyes. Evey didn't know how to answer. _He is still alive._ The Detective answered for her.

"Miserable," he said. He looked up at V without flinching.

"Good." V tilted his head toward Evey. "I took the liberty of warming the bath. It had gone quite cold. It's ready for you now, if you want to bring him out."

"Are you ready, Mr. Stone?" Evey stood up and extended a hand to him.

The trip to the loo was slow. Evey supported Dominic on his left side. He was weak, unsteady as he walked, and leaned heavily on her. V disappeared into the Gallery as soon as they emerged from the corridor. She steered the detective into the bathroom. The gleaming white tile was wet with steam. _V must have really warmed the bath._ Evey put her hand in it. "Mr. Stone, feel this and tell me if the temperature is right for you. She held him tightly as he bent over the clawfoot tub.

"It's fairly warm, but I like it that way. I've been rather cold lately." He gave her a reproachful glance. Evey ignored it. She took the filthy blankets from him, exposing his naked chest, and tugged at his belt, pulling the leather through the buckle and dropping his pants. He stepped out of them, shivered a little, even in the warm steam. He tensed as she reached for the waistband of his underwear. Cotton boxers. Navy blue with a gold school emblem on the hem. She tried not to smile as she slid them over his bum and down his legs. _This can't be any fun at all for him. _His left hand moved immediately to cover his privates. Evey took his elbow and supported him as he stepped carefully into the steaming water. She steadied his shoulder as he slid slowly into the tub. His pale skin instantly flushed a deep red up to the water line on his chest and crept slower up until even his face had some color to it. She held his broken hand high to keep it out of the water and rested it on a stack of towels she had pressed between the rim of the tub and the wall.

"Are you sure it's not too hot?" she asked him as she guided his head back to more tea towels she had rolled up and laid over the end.

"No. It feels good."

"Good, then. Brilliant." He still had his hand over his crotch. Evey couldn't help but peek through the water. Her face warmed up. She was glad he couldn't see her blushing. She used the scissors to clip the bandage from his head and toss it in the rubbish bin. She examined the wound in the bright light. V had said she could wash his hair if he had a sturdy scab. _It looks sturdy enough to me. _She suds-up her hands and distributed the shampoo through his dark hair. She carefully avoided the stitches. _And I don't want to rinse this stuff into the nice clean tub water_. Already the white foam from the shampoo was darkening with blood and dirt. "Does this hurt you?" she asked.

"A little. Not much." His voice was steady, confident.

"Tell me if it gets bad. I'm going to ask you to scoot back and lean your head over the edge here so I can rinse." He pushed himself with his legs until his head had cleared the tub. Evey placed a small tea towel over his eyes. Then she got up and opened the cabinet under the sink and retrieved a plastic bucket V used when he was cleaning. She scooped fresh water up from the tub with a small pitcher and poured it over his head, catching the dirty water in the bucket. She repeated until the bucket was full and the water that drained off his hair ran clear.

"There," she told him, "you can slide down again. Relax. The hard part is finished. The rest is easy."

"Tell me about 'the rest'," he said as he wiped his face with the now-wet tea towel. Evey smiled, as he had to take his hand from his crotch to do that. He seemed to realize it at that same moment, for the tea towel took a little leap into the tub and sank under the water to cover him.

"I'm just going to give you a good scrub, then a shave."

"I…I can do that," he said. Not so confident now.

"With one hand? Left-handed? I think not. You'll cut yourself to ribbons. Besides, you are still on the drugs. You're too loopy to be given a razor."

He stared straight ahead, then sighed a little. "Fine. Get it over with." He closed his eyes.

Evey picked up a wash cloth and rubbed it with soap. She started with his good hand, scrubbing the fingers, the nails, then his hand and arm. His arm was heavy and well-muscled. His skin was pink from the hot water and the dark hairs on his forearm were very fine and soft. She washed up to his shoulder and used the little pitcher to rinse him. He opened one eye at her as she soaped his chest. Muscles rippled here as she touched him. _I'm making him very uncomfortable_, _but this has to be done_. She sudsed him good, washed the injured arm down to the wrist, but didn't touch the hand or fingers. She skipped over the sodden tea towel in the middle of his body and resumed scrubbing with his feet.

Nice feet. Long legs. Strong and well formed. She washed each toe, checked the nails for injury or discoloration. Dominic was much taller than she, but not quite as tall as V; he still filled up the tub with an impressive amount of bone and muscle. Evey paused over his middle. She blinked, then put the wash cloth in his left hand. "Mr. Stone. Perhaps you would like to wash your own…parts," she said as nicely as she could manage under the circumstances. Dominic opened his eyes; he had been dozing.

"Oh yes, quite right." His discomfort was charming in its innocence. His fingers closed over the soapy cloth and he stared at her until she turned around. Evey heard a bit of splashing, the squeak of his bum rubbing against the porcelain tub as he shifted position. Then he said, "Finished."

"Good. Time for your shave."

Evey had to hang over the edge of the tub to shave him. She caught him looking at her breasts, especially after they accidentally dipped into the water when she leaned across him to shave the far side of his face. The stubble came off easily, the razor was sharp. Evey finished with a slap of aftershave to make sure none of the nicks became infected. He blinked several times as she stroked his now-smooth cheeks with the astringent. She sighed with satisfaction when she was finished, checking his throat and jaw to see if she missed a spot. "That's a good job well done. Mr. Stone. You look much better now. I hope you feel better." She smiled at him again, then packed up the shaving kit.

"I do. But this is so strange."

"What is strange?"

"That you care."

"I care about a lot of things, Mr. Stone. And you would understand better if you knew what I know." She finished putting things away and shook out a huge towel. "Come then, be careful standing up." He was slippery, but she got a firm grip on his left elbow and braced her legs on the bathmat as he leaned nearly his full weight on her shoulders to get out of the tub. She quickly wrapped him in the towel. He shivered violently until she added two more towels and sat him on the commode cover. "Detective. You are still sick. I will get you dressed and put you back to bed with more blankets this time." She worried a little, looking closer at his face. The healthy glow had faded with the shivers and he looked ill again. She fluffed his hair gently with a smaller towel, dried his ears and face, all the while he was looking up at her with those expressive eyes. She paused. _No hatred in them, no fear. Puzzlement this time. He's a detective. He is always puzzling things out. It's his job to make sense of the situation. It's probably second nature to him, thinking all the time. I wonder what he thinks of all this._

"Detective, I'm sorry he had to hurt you. I'm sorry you got too close. It's just until the Fifth. I will set you free on the Sixth. Do you see? Not too much longer. Then you can see a surgeon about this hand." Evey ran the little towel down his injured arm and carefully opened up the brace straps so she could look at his hand. "I did my best. They look straight. She indicated his index and middle fingers that had been particularly badly mangled. The ones that had been on the trigger and the clip.

He bent his head to look at them too. She saw the fingers twitch. His breath made a catching sound in his throat. "Still hurts pretty bad."

"I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do it." His eyes flickered up to her face where a little crescent shaped scar marked her forehead.

She saw him look at it. "No, but I am responsible." She touched her little scar to show him she knew what he was thinking.

"No you're not. He is." Defiant.

Evey pressed the straps back around the wrist brace. She dried his chest and indicated a square of cotton she had cut from a sheet and set aside. "Yes. He did it. He has an overdeveloped sense of Justice, Mr. Stone. It's hard for me to explain how very deeply he feels about Justice and I won't even try. I'm going to make you a sling. First I need to get you dressed, then perhaps we can talk about it." He helped her with the sleeves and lifted his chin so she could button his shirt. Fresh underwear and trousers, socks and his old shoes went on next. They did not speak as she dressed him, but she was aware of his eyes on her. His eyes watched her every move. When he was dressed she folded his arm across his chest and tied the sling around his shoulders. She heard a light tap on the door. They both looked up as V pushed it inward.

V took in the room, the towels, the puddles, the pile of ruined clothing. "Are you finished?"

"Yes. He looks much better, doesn't he?" Evey still had Dominic's arm, glad she did, for he was swaying a little on his feet.

V nodded slightly, "It's late afternoon already. I thought you had drowned him."

Evey laughed. "No, but that probably means I should feed him again. He can eat at the table, right? In the kitchen? Please?"

"If you want him to."

"Yes. Please.

"Very well. Remember what I said about that grip." His voice emphasized the word "grip". The mask then dipped meaningfully at Evey. She nodded to him, then V turned around and disappeared into the hall.

"Ah. Yes. I remember." Evey said in a small voice after the door had closed. She looked down at her feet. _Behave, Mr. Stone. Please. I can't stop him if you don't. _She gripped his good arm as she led him out into the Gallery.

But he did behave. He was almost docile. He followed her to the kitchen, looking around at the walls and ceiling, but not saying anything. He sat down in V's chair while she made him a sandwich. He watched her, moving his head, listening behind him where V had gone to the Picture Room. After he had eaten the sandwich, Evey took him back to the cell and put him on the cot with many more blankets this time as well as a fresh pillow, a new pitcher of water and a clean cup. It was the best she could do. "Sleep now, Mr. Stone."

"Call me Dominic, Miss Hammond. After all, you've seen me naked." For the first time his eyes held a little crinkle at the corners.

She smiled uncomfortably. "Dominic, then. Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep? He gave me a book to read to you. I can read to you if you like. I know it is…" what? she reached for the right word, couldn't find it. She remembered her hours in this cold cell. _The space seemed to eat me as I sat in it, digesting me. It hurts terribly for me to leave him here alone in it. It feels as though the cell is waiting for me to leave so it can devour him_. "I know it is _hard_ to be in here." Not a good enough word, but one they both understand.

"If you want to." He sounded drowsy but his eyes were bright, and they continued to follow her movements as she tidied up.

When she was satisfied that everything was put away Evey made herself as comfortable as possible on the floor, leaning against the wall between the cot and the door. She picked up the copy of _Animal Farm_ that V had left for her and opened the thin book. A slip of folded yellow paper fluttered out and landed on her knee. Evey set the book down and lifted the paper and unfolded the page. She read it; slowly the blood drained from her face. "I'm sorry, Mr…Dominic," she kept her voice steady, fighting the breathlessness she felt, "I will have to read to you some other time."

She clutched the paper in her fist as she turned around to lock the cell door, her hand was shaking so hard the key jammed the mechanism twice before setting the lock properly. She then ran to the Picture Gallery, slipping a little on the flagstones as she dodged pedestals and furniture. V was sitting in his chair quietly reading some loose papers. The Chief Inspector's briefcase lay open on the floor beside him. He looked up as he heard her approach.

"V!" She skidded to a stop a few feet from his chair, waving the paper in front of the mask. "Who the hell is Audrey?"


	20. Chapter 20

Adagio

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

Again, some crossover discussion from "Nightmare". It should not affect the plot too much, but adds depth to the characters.

* * *

He came up out of the chair and like the strike of a snake his arm shot out and snatched the yellowed paper from her waving fist. He saw her face. _Jealous. She is jealous_. _Which one of Audrey's letters is this?_ He looked down at the paper in his hand and read the first line. "Mr. V. You talked to me about Justice. I no longer believe in Justice…" He looked up at Evey's flushed face. He kept his voice gentle so as not to alarm her, for he could see that his swift movement had startled her. Her eyes were so big.

"Where did you get this?"

Her lip trembled. "It fell out of a book." He detected traces of betrayal in the tone. He used his other hand to draw her to him and press her against his body.

"Audrey is dead, Evey. She died some many years ago." He bent the mask to see the words on the old paper again. The other hand stroked her, reassuring her, feeling the curve of her shoulders and waist. He felt her clutch him with her little hands, almost sobbing, but not quite…she pressed her face into his chest. _She is astonished, that's all. Surprised._ He hugged her with one arm as he read. The letter continued, "I no longer believe in Justice. To believe in Justice is to give the power of life and death to someone else. Who becomes the arbiter? Who decides? Obviously it is not God. That has been shown to me. Is it the Government? Shall we trust them to administer Justice? Who is the agent of Justice in this world? It is me. It is you. You must see this, Mr. V. You must see that this is true. You must become the agent of Justice. You must pick up your blades and do what is Just. No one else has the courage. Not me. Not my doctor. Not my vicar. You must do it. Audrey."

"What did she mean?" Evey asked in a small voice. She was muffled by the doublet but he heard her clearly.

"Audrey wanted me to kill her. She made some very good arguments."

Evey pulled back and looked up at him, completely shocked. "And did you?"

"No."

"But, you said she was dead."

V sat down in his chair, dropped the letter to the floor. Evey knelt at his knees, picked the letter up and read it again, leaning on his leg. "She says she wants you to 'do what is Just'. She says, 'pick up your knives' Did you?"

"I did."

"What did you do?"

_I've been doing it. For years I have been administering Justice._ _But that is not what Eve is asking. She is asking about Audrey._ His mind spun back to that day. The day Audrey died. He shook his head, _I tried so hard to convey these truths about life and death to Evey. I tried everything I knew, finally even resorting to that ultimate, desperate session...seizing her, forcing her, locking her up and hurting her. But then I gave her Valerie. Valerie showed her what I could not. And now, even after, I do not know that she sees. Can she understand?_ _Audrey did_.

"V? Are you going to tell me?" He felt her squeeze his knee above his boot.

He took in some more air, preparing to speak. Words failed him. He tried again, knowing he sounded troubled to her ears. _But_ _I am not troubled. I am at peace. Reconciled. And yet I do not want to have this discussion today. I wanted to have it on the Fourth. If I tell her too soon she might stop me. Too late and she will never forgive me. Timing is everything, Timing is the key. Timing._

He ran his hand over her head, ruffled the short curls. _She can't stop me, I won't let her; and she must forgive me_. _She must._ _So that is the answer I need. I will tell her now. The time is now_. He took a deep breath. "She wanted me to kill her. She was suffering…"

"Was she ill? Did she have cancer or something?"

"Yes, and no. She was ill and desired the peace of oblivion, the comfort of her beliefs. She decided I was the one to give it to her, and she was relentless."

"So the letter…"

"There were several letters. She peppered my books with them. She made excellent arguments. She was very well-educated. Her husband was a law professor. She knew how to make a convincing argument."

"Her husband…so, she wasn't your lover."

"Oh, Heavens, no. The first time she saw me she was violently sick." He remembered only after these words escaped his mouth that he was speaking to someone who had never seen him. Someone who _was_ his lover.

"You let her see you?" He detected the hurt in her voice. He removed his hand from her head and pulled off the glove. He put the ruined hand pointedly on her shoulder.

"You've seen me."

"Not your face." She covered the hand with her own. Her eyes told him how much she loved him.

He leaned toward her, over the arm of the chair. "Do you think I want to watch you become violently ill?"

"I would not become violently ill. You know that."

"Hmmm." He did not want to pursue that line of discussion. "I can't take that risk."

She changed the subject "How did she die?"

"She was murdered." He sighed, remembering.

"Murdered!" Evey climbed into his lap and put her arms around him. She nuzzled her face into his wig just over his ear. "And she was your friend? I'm so sorry. That must have been terrible for you."

He put the mask to her hair and breathed her. She smelled like the shampoo and soap she had used on Detective Stone. She was still a little damp from that adventure. He breathed her through the mask, held her. _She is warm. Alive. Audrey was cold, stiff_. He did not want to remember, it had been years since he thought of her lying there in the alley. _Is it cathartic to remember? To go over these memories? The ones I have left?_ "She was late for an appointment. I went looking for her. I found her. She was in the alley above us. Right where I found you, Eve. Right where you were, last year."

"In the alley? How horrible."

"I came around the corner and there you were. There she was. But I was too late for her, Eve. I waited too long to come looking for her."

"But not too late for me."

"No. Not too late for you."

"And she was dead?"

"Hmmm, yes." It had been horrible. The memory, a decade or more old, still had the sting of a fresh injury. How he had seen the crumpled mac, the little red galoshes, knew she was dead before he was close enough to see the puddle of cold blood beneath her. Her tiny little feet and hands emerged from the edges of the tawny raincoat. The murderer had not even taken the rucksack she was carrying. She had been carrying tea and food for him. Some analgesics and more books. His knives. The villain had raped her, killed her and ran. V had bent over her, smoothed the mac down over her legs, touched her face. Her blue eyes were dull, but she was smiling a little smile. The wound in her neck was clean, viciously efficient. It was the slash of someone who knew what he was doing.

"V? Oh God, V?"

Someone was shaking him. Someone far away.

"V!"

He closed his eyes and the memory faded. In the years since that moment he had learned to erase some of the visions. Some would fade at his command. Some would fade, but not all. He stopped the associated memories. _Right now_. _Stop_. A mental wall slammed down and tried to keep the children from coming. But they were relentless, begging him to call their mothers for them. _As relentless as Audrey_._ Come for me later, _he said to themStill, he saw their eyes; they were all standing in the alley, looking at Audrey's lifeless body. He looked too. He had smoothed her hair back from her face. Said good bye to her. Sirens screamed in the distance. It was time to go. He had picked up her rucksack and slipped into the shadows as the police arrived. Deep in his hole he opened the letters she had written him. Read the books she had brought him. A pristine copy of _The Biography of Samuel Johnson_ by Boswell yielded a shock. A copy of her will. Signed, validated and filed with her solicitor.

"V!" He felt a hard shake; little hands had him by the doublet and were yanking his shoulders to and fro.

He saw her. _It is Eve_. "Eve."

"Thank goodness, jeez, V. You scared the shit out of me." Kisses rained upon his head, his hand, soft kisses, and feather-soft touches of love. His heart swelled with passion for her and he drew her to him, held her tightly pressed against the wrenching pain in his chest. _She makes the pain go away_. The knives don't. The drugs don't. The murders don't. _But she does. She makes it all go away._

She squirmed, "V, that's too tight. Ow. I can't….breathe." She struggled, pushing against his chest until he released her. He listened to her take great gulps of air, rubbing her ribs with both hands, looking at him with a loving reproach. _To have her is to crush her. To release her is to let her breathe. My need is too great. I will obliterate her if I stay. I am Death to her._

He turned his head and looked down the entry to the cell corridor. _And you, Mr. Stone. I have chosen you. I have marked you for her. You are the only one good enough. And the Chief Inspector will protect her. _He turned the mask back to Eve and looked at her through the dark narrow holes. _They will look at you without a mask, and you will see them clearly, too. Good men. The only ones left. _

She caressed his hair, pulling her fingers through the wig in long strokes. "I'm sorry I reminded you. It was foolish of me to think she was your lover. The paper is old. I didn't think about that. I just saw a woman's name and saw that she called you 'Mr. V'. I saw that she knew you. She knew you. I was jealous. It was silly of me."

"Eve."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, making you remember." She kissed the top of his head.

"You didn't hurt me." He slid his glove back over his hand. "Is the detective asleep?"

"I don't know. I guess. He looked pretty wiped out when I put him to bed. God. Poor man, his fingers, V. I hope he can use that hand when it heals."

He ignored that. "Does he know you left Finch that note?"

"No. I never told him. I didn't think it mattered. Should I tell him?" She looked concerned.

"When you take him his supper. Tell him. I think it will make a world of difference."

She frowned. And Mr. Finch? Have you checked on him? Is he back at work? What did he do when he saw his briefcase had gone missing?"

"Much better, yes, I have looked in on him, and he was alarmed when he saw his papers gone. In fact, we need to get it back to him. It is a serious security breach. I know at the time you didn't think about that, but he could lose his position if Sutler found out. I've already told him not to report it, that it would be returned. There is nothing in it for me, Eve. Nothing I didn't know already."

"Oh. I thought I was being clever. I carried it those ten kilometers. I thought there might be something you wanted in there."

"No. The diary is locked in the safe in his office."

"What diary?"

He felt a wave of regret. _I spoke too freely. Without thinking_, _yet_ _there are no coincidences._ _Then I suppose today is the day. Not tomorrow, not the Fourth. Today. Timing is everything._ "Dr. Surridge's diary."

"Who is Dr. Surridge?"

"Was. She was…my doctor."

"She treated your burns?"

_Ha._ "No. I was not burned when I first met her. She was the physician in charge of the project in the prison. The one I told you about."

"Oh. And she kept a diary. And The Chief Inspector has read it. Then he knows."

"Yes. He knows."

"Does Dom…I mean, Mr. Stone, does he know too?"

"No. And he won't unless you tell him. Finch has been ordered not to reveal the information in the diary."

"I see. Do _you_ know what is in the diary?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but I learned it from other sources." He stroked her cheek. "You see, Eve, I was the subject of some medical testing." _Massive understatement._ "I survived it. Others didn't."

"You told me this already," her eyes were soft. "You don't have to tell me again."

"I didn't tell you all of it. It's time to tell you all of it." _Timing is everything_.

"No. Not if it's going to upset you."

"It won't." _Let me in, Eve. You must_.

She put a hand over the mouth of the mask. "No. I just saw you fade away before my eyes. That's not necessary. I don't care about any of that. That all happened in the past. I don't want the past to wound either of us anymore. You have revenged yourself. You have punished them. You are mere days away from your final blow, the death blow to this administration. The people will rally and take back their government. Now is the time of the future. The future, V. Not the past. We will leave. We will go to Paris. You gave me a passport. You must be planning to leave the country. Right? You are planning to leave?"

_I am planning to leave, Dear One._ He tried to speak. He hugged her instead. Too tightly. Too tightly. _Timing._

Later, after supper, he re-packed Finch's briefcase while Evey spent some time in the cell. He knew she hated having someone in there. He knew it was painful for her. _I have no choice. I can't have him anywhere else in here. No other room is secure. _He had drifted by the door to check on her and heard her voice softly reading. It sounded like _Fahrenheit 451_. Every now and then he would hear the detective's deeper voice asking her a question, or to repeat a sentence. His voice was always low and careful. Measured. _I am impressed. He is handling this situation very well, considering. But then, I knew he would._

He returned to the briefcase and his computer. _Final touches_. He moved his cameras around looking for Eric Finch. _I can see him entering a building, exiting a building, in the car park, but never in a room. He knows about Dominic's flat now._ That camera now had permanent static. His finger froze on the joystick. Permanent static…except now. He typed a new code and watched as the camera in Dominic's sitting room bloomed back to life for the first time in more than a week.

He looked at the archive numbers. This image was from yesterday. 12:40 AM. The exact time Eve left the flat the night she visited him. Finch was standing beneath the camera looking straight at the hidden lens. In his hand he held a scrambler. Finch raised it slightly and turned it in the air, showing it to the camera. _Showing it to me._ Finch's mouth made a thin line; his eyes glanced at the sofa behind him then returned to the camera. Then he held up the little piece of paper that Eve had left. He turned it around like he had done with the scrambler. Then he pointed at the floor where the briefcase had been and again looked up at the camera. V watched as The Chief Inspector held up the scrambler one more time and a moment later the screen dissolved to static again. V rubbed his chin under the mask. _So. He wants his partner and his briefcase back. He shall have them._ V leaned forward and began to type.

When his work was done, V climbed heavily back up the stairs to the Gallery. _I am tired. I am almost finished._ He paused at the makeup room, used a hand to draw back the red velvet curtain. _Soon I will just be me. It will just be me and the Ladies. Me… and Fate and Justice. I hope the Ladies dress for the event. I sent them their invitations nearly twenty years ago. They should have had plenty of time to don their gowns and adorn themselves with jewels. I'll be escorting them to my final performance…_He was interrupted by the sound of voices nearby. _What is Eve up to?_

Silently he crept toward the sounds of two people speaking in low voices. A man and a woman. Stone and Eve. _She brought him out again?_ He came to a stop behind a pillar. _They are in the picture room. Where I like to read. No reading tonight, then._ He could hear them clearly. He peered around the pillar to get a glimpse, and then pulled back out of sight. Evey had the detective by his good elbow, steering him, supporting him. She had him positioned in front of a painting. V looked around the pillar again; she was showing Stone the "Lady of Shallot". _Oh. My sweet Lady of the Boat._ He drew back and listened.

"And you see, Detective…"

"Dominic."

"Yes, sorry, Dominic. You see that this beautiful painting could be so threatening to the government."

"No. I don't see that at all. It is a mystery to me."

"Do you not know her story?"

"Well, of course I had to read the poem in school, years ago…"

"She defied her duty, Mr. Stone…"

"Dominic"

"Dominic. She stepped out of her assigned role to follow her heart. She sacrificed herself knowingly; she knew what she was doing. She made a decision for herself, not for society; she defied authority. She took her life into her own hands and risked death for…well, I guess for self-gratification in a way. She did what she wanted to do, not what others had told her to do. She broke out of her prison, Mr. Stone. That's why it is down here instead of in the National Gallery, Mr….Dominic. They can't have images like that floating around a Museum. Some citizen might get ideas. Might start to think for himself." V heard her voice drop in pitch. "He loves this painting, you know."

"They are all beautiful. I have never seen any of them. Why is this one here?"

"'The Great Fire of London'. The painting was done in 1666, the artist unknown."

"Why would this be censored?"

"The government has an interest in rewriting history. I'm sure that while it may take decades to eradicate this particular historical event, it might well become a myth one day."

"But why?" V heard genuine puzzlement in the detective's voice.

"Well, V told me that this painting shows an image of a disaster that the government at the time could not control. The people need to feel safe. They need to feel the government is protecting them from all fears and disasters. Displaying this painting demonstrates the government's helplessness in a true catastrophe. Shows their power to be false. Impotent. A ruse. He says all such paintings have been removed from public galleries."

V listened carefully, but the pause was too long. He stole a glance again. The detective appeared to be sagging a little on her arm. V watched as the man slowly bent his knees and sank to the flagstones. Evey cried out.

"Mr. Stone! What is wrong? Oh no. I shouldn't have brought you out. You are still too weak. Damn. I'm so sorry. Is it your head? Your hand? Are you dizzy? Are you in pain? The drugs, it's the drugs; I know they make you dizzy. It's the drugs. Oh God. Let me get you some tea, or some whiskey or something. I don't know. Do you feel like you are going to pass out? Can you see? Are you going to be sick?"

Eve's distress was painful to see. V leaned back against the wall lest her eyes, which were sweeping the gallery in desperation, should land upon him. _Don't leave him, Eve. He is still your prisoner. Don't leave him alone while you get him a drink_. He leaned over again just enough to see them. Stone was sitting on the floor now, silent, bent over his hand. She was standing beside him, her hand on his shoulder, biting her lip. She took a step away. _No Eve. You cannot leave a prisoner unattended. Never. _She didn't. Instead she raised her voice.

"V!"

He jumped, startled, for he had been straining to hear whispers. Hearing his name so loudly was like a slap. She called him again, even louder, and with frantic urgency.

"V! Help me!"

He straightened himself, brushed down his tunic and sleeves. Put fingers through his wig to make sure it was in place and then stepped away from the wall as though he was responding to her call. "Yes, Eve?" He spoke calmly. _I'm in control._ He modulated his voice to soothe her. She was alternately flushed and pale and her brown eyes were large and luminous in the glowing lights of the picture gallery. She sighed with relief when she saw him.

"Oh God, V. Something has happened to the detective. Look at him."

Two long strides took V to her side. She reached for him. He took her in his arms. Comforted her. He felt her dig her little hands into his sides. "What happened to him, V?"

V squatted down on his heels, his hands on his knees. He peered into the detective's face. Evey stood behind him, holding on to his shoulders, her fists twisted in the doublet. Detective Stone did not look back at him. Instead he seemed to be looking inward. His eyes were open, unfocused, and he was breathing hard. Every third or fourth breath was voiced with a little groan. He was pale, but not completely white and he blinked periodically, licking his lips. V looked up at Eve who was hovering above him. "Do you not recognize what is happening to him, Eve?"

"No! Oh God, did he have a stroke? Is he going to throw up?" The fists tightened on his shoulders. Her next question came out as a whisper. "Did I hurt him?" She inhaled sharply on the last word.

"No, Love. Look at him. Come down here." V drew her down. The three of them made a small triangle on the floor. "Yes, you have hurt him, I'm afraid. You have smashed his world." V lifted his hand and pointed at the detective's eyes. "He is at this moment re-forming what was once good and familiar into something open and dangerous. You have bent his mind, Eve. You have freed him. He is thinking. Look. Do you not recognize yourself in him?" Stone looked up at the sound of V's voice, the dark eyes focused briefly on the mask before returning to the ground.

V continued, "This is what happens when your mind is opened. Nothing is ever the same again. For the rest of his life there will be the time before this moment, and the time after. This same thing happened to the Chief Inspector some weeks ago. I saw it in his face. I am seeing it now in Detective Stone's. Look, Eve. Look harder. Tell me you see it too."

He watched her face as she tilted her head, following the black leather finger indicating the detective's eyes. He saw her own eyes dart across Dominic's face, noting the expressions. Aware. Enlightened. Agonized. The detective blinked once, then raised his head so his eyes met hers. V felt a stabbing pain in his heart. _I recognize that look_. _I can't blame him. I look at her the same way, but she never sees it._

Stone's expressive eyes had an effect on her too. "Oh V. I remember. I remember. He is hurting so bad. I was. It hurt." She put her hand over her stomach, showing him where it had hurt. "What do I do?"

V took that hand and held it. "What did I do for you?"

"You…you held me. Touched my face. You spoke to me."

"That is what he needs, Eve. Hold him. Touch his face. Talk to him. Tell him you are here and you understand." V thought the words would choke him to death. He was going to add, _tell him this way is better, that he will heal and become stronger_. But he could not make his mouth work. _I do not feel better. I do not feel healed. I do not feel stronger._ He took her hand which was in his glove and rested it gently on the detective's shoulder. "I will get him some tea. You stay with him." He lurched to his feet, tried to pretend that his unsteadiness was caused by his cramped position on the floor. Knew it was not. It didn't matter. She didn't even notice. Stone murmured, "I'm all right. Don't worry. I…I just need to think."

_The future is coming toward me faster than I had anticipated. I see its blinding headlight and hear the roar._ He looked down at the two of them as he turned to walk to the kitchen. Eve had her hands on Stone's shoulders, staring into his eyes with the kind of sympathy and compassion V had previously seen her show only to him. She was looking at Stone with an expression that he, himself, had never been able to bestow upon her.

_She will never see my face._ _She will never see my love shine from my eyes._ She had needed to see sympathy and compassion on the day she emerged from her cell_. Instead I gave her a grimace. A frozen smile. I gave her ice, when she needed warmth. Leather when she needed skin. A cold cave when she needed a warm meadow._ _Rain. I gave her rain. I gave her frigid, wet and brutal rain_. _Rooftop rain. A storm._ He turned and watched as she touched Stone's face, cupping his chin in one hand and caressing his forehead with the other. _She needed a warm touch, a kind hand, but I gave her rain_. She was murmuring to the detective, but V couldn't hear her words. _What is in the rain but pelting tears?_

He leaned on the pillar. _It is better this way_, he told himself._ Death will take me. Life will take her_. _Get the tea. Get the goddamned tea. Get the bloody fucking tea._


	21. Chapter 21

Adagio

Rated NC-17 for sexual situations

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

He moved through the Gallery, taking extra care to touch the sculpture, stand a moment before each painting_. A year ago I would have been thrilled to wake up on this auspicious day. Now I feel no thrill. Just resignation. It is made even harder by Evey's obvious elation. She could barely sit still through breakfast and her chatter…ye gods, I was so glad I was wearing a mask. I let the frozen smile placate her. She insisted that Stone get a fancy breakfast. _He tipped his head toward the hall_. She is still in there. She said something about taking his stitches out. She will be in there a while._ He made his way toward the storage rooms.

_And me? It is time to take out my stitches too._ _Tonight I will be completely healed. Not bandaged, not stitched up, not braced up, reinforced or rebuilt. Healed_. _But_ _she won't see it that way_. He walked into the room and lifted out the breastplate from its place inside a crate. He had examined it weeks ago for repairs_. One last check, front and back_. It was heavy; he would wait until the last minute to put it on. _Now the metal mask_. He picked it up, checked the straps. _This one buckles on. Last minute for this too_. And the hat. Sheet metal reinforced the crown. _A head shot would drop me quick, indeed; too quick_. He ran a finger around the brim. _Just long enough._ The armor needed to last just long enough

There would be no napalm this time, no mustard gas. _I'm not trying to kill anyone with this explosion. Just fireworks. Something pretty and warm to look at while they contemplate their lives. Celebratory. The end and the beginning. Here it is_. He had been waiting for it. Satisfaction. He wouldn't deny it.He felt it. Satisfaction_. This is the culmination of years of effort, planning and hard physical labor. _

He sat on the edge of a crate. _Today. Tonight. I need to check the train one more time. Check to make sure the fuses are still tight, the wires in solid. It had been raining during the week. Not unusual for November. I hope the fireworks are dry, and that Parliament doesn't have a leaky roof_. He allowed himself to smile_. I_ _packed extra just in case. They will go up with a glorious noise even in a downpour._

_Everything is ready. Everything has been ready. I am more ready now than I was the first time. _That had gone beautifully. _This one will too_. The key to success is to not leave anything up to chance. _No variables. Back then, there was only certainty: I will light the fuse. It will explode. They will burn. I will die. _

_But I didn't die._ _There is still that one variable. Audrey's variable: Fate. I told Fate to get dressed. I told her to get ready. She didn't listen to me. Fate had other plans for me_. He looked down at his hands, turned them palm up. _These hands have done her work for her. They have toiled in her name and in the name of Justice. But now it is time_. _I am finished. It is over. She cannot ask me for more. I have given her everything. _"I have done enough for you!" he shouted, startling himself. He had not meant to speak aloud.

"V?"

_Evey heard me. Damn._ He stood up. _Better to meet her out there than have her find me in here and be forced to explain_…he looked at the armor …_that_. "Here I am." He stepped into the corridor.

She was there in the hall, wearing a red silk tea-length dress and matching pumps. He had never seen this dress before. _Ah, yes, she went shopping_. _She looks fantastic_. Her blond curls were long enough now to cover her ears and allow tiny tendrils to touch her neck. He wanted to touch her neck too. His eyes slid down her body to her legs. The curves of her calves and the graceful ankles made him pause_. I'm glad she has put away the denim today._ She smiled at him. "I see the fridge is packed with food. Are you planning a luncheon?"

"No. It's for tea. I thought we would have a celebratory tea at 4." He kept his voice steadier than his heart.

"I was planning a celebratory _supper_." She laughed. She had been laughing all day.

_I know. Paris._ His throat tightened. "We shall eat well, then," he said.

She laughed again, "But I am too excited to eat! Are you finished with your work? Can you play now?"

"I have some things to check. I have to go down to the train, look at the computers. Then I can…what did you say? 'Play'? What, exactly, did you have in mind?" He tilted his head, suspicious. Her laugh was like little bells tinkling.

She turned to look at him out of the corners of her eyes, "Chess? Scrabble? Is that what you think I mean?"

"Well, I…"

"Nothing so mundane on this auspicious day." Her eyes twinkled at him. "Hurry up and be responsible, then come back up here. I have a surprise for you. A gift." She spun on those red heels, making her skirt twirl around those calves and she almost skipped into the Gallery.

He stood there in the corridor. Bereft.

The last rose was in place. He stood back to take in the whole scene. The train was ready. _Not just my victory. Valerie's too._ He glanced at the empty bench. Touched it with a gloved finger. _Soon. Now everything is ready_. He made his way slowly up the stairs back to the Gallery. _Everything is ready, except me_.

The roses were all gone. He sat down on the floor in Valerie's room. Only the living plants remained, shorn of their blossoms in their pots beneath the grow lights. He stared at them, leaves and stems and thorns. For years they had bloomed in the darkness, living underground where no other rose could live, where nothing but insects and fungus lived. _In a crypt. Roses in a crypt. Now they are gone, taken to the train for Valerie. For_ _me._ More blooms will follow, weeks from now, next year perhaps. The naked stems will recover from being shorn. He sighed, thinking of Eve.

He heard her calling his name and got to his feet. _She comes looking for me. In a moment she will be here. In a moment she will come flying through this door and embrace me. I will feel her arms around my body, her voice in my ears. She will cling to me, bringing life back, bringing some warmth to my limbs, a blush to the white mask. Like a temporary reprieve. But it must fade. _He turned to the bare stems and touched a petal that lay withered on a leaf. He heard her footsteps in the hall behind him. _That red dress. She chose that color on purpose, for me. I know it. It is like the roses have jumped off these stems and onto her body_. He shook his head slowly. _A rose in a crypt. It is time to open the mausoleum. Let the daylight in. A few hours from now artificial daylight will brighten the skies. He tapped the grow lights. Away with the artifice! Reality will intrude. I'm glad of it. It's long been time._

The tappity tap of heels on stone grew louder. _She comes._ He braced himself. "V! She threw her arms around him. "I've been looking for you! It's time for tea. I saw you have everything ready; I put it on the table. Listen, the clock strikes 4. It's time." Her enthusiasm and obvious excitement pained him as he took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the kitchen. One last look over his shoulder. _There is no longer a need for a shrine._ As he passed through the arch he lifted his hand and unhooked the curtain's tie- back. Yards of heavy red velvet whooshed to close behind him, sealing the crypt. _I will never go back._

"Look what I have for you," Evey said, brandishing a bottle of Champagne. Something special, no tea."

"I see that. And you have set the table with 18th century porcelain. Evey. We aren't supposed to eat on this."

"If not tonight. When?"

"Well, never actually. These are museum pieces. No one has eaten _pate_ or _petite fours_ from them in, oh, three hundred years."

"Listen to me, V. After months of eating off a plank…" she stopped there. For a fleeting instant her eyes grew hard. _It must be because of Stone. In the cell. She has been reminded every day now for a month._ A momentary pause and she finished on a lighter note, "…I insist." He let it go. _Does it matter today? No._

"I will be honored." He said softly. She pushed the platter towards him. The tiny squares of hors d'oeuvres lay on the gleaming white and blue porcelain. It was beautiful. He poked at a toast point as Evey's hand set a little saucer worth thousands beside him filled with shining pearls of caviar. Black and red. _It's beautiful, but I don't know if I can eat._ Her eyes had gone soft again as she slid into her chair across from him and poured the Champagne into two flutes.

"I'll talk to the back of your head while we eat. But first, a toast." She handed him his flute. "To the End. It's over, thank God." She drank, the flared bottom of her Champagne glass tipped up gracefully. He stared at his own glass. The pale wine mocked him with its celebration, its little bubbles drifting slowly to the top like confetti drifting upwards instead of down. _I am supposed to be exhilarated, satisfied._ He waited for those feelings to take him, to fill him. They didn't. _She is never going to forgive me. This is going to end badly, I know it. _Her voice interrupted his thoughts."V? Drink!"

He turned his chair around and pushed the mask up over his head because that's what she expected him to do, but he couldn't drink. The Champagne bubbled expectantly between the fingers of his black glove.

"What's wrong, V?" She set her flute down, came over to him and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. "Are you nervous? You shouldn't be. You've got every detail planned out. I can't imagine how anything can go wrong."

"It's already gone wrong," he murmured.

"What?" She hugged him from behind, her hands on his chest, squeezing his heart. He felt he would burst.

"Nothing. I don't want any wine. Not even this fine Champagne. I'm sorry Evey." He set the glass down on the edge of the table without looking at it. "You went to all this trouble."

"You can't have the jitters. That's not like you. What's wrong?" Her hands stroked him now, comforting. He felt her warm breath on the back of his neck. She was breathing into his wig. "What would you like instead? Anything."

He reached up and dropped the mask into place, then answered her by reaching around and drawing her into his lap and cuddling her to his chest. He felt the pain fade as he knew it would. She took his glove in her hand and brought it to her lips. "You are stiff as a board, V. The wine would do you some good, I think. Have just a little to loosen you up. You have hours before midnight."

He drew in a long breath. "Actually, I will have to go some time before midnight."

"Oh? When?"

"Around nine."

"Five hours. You can have a glass of Champagne, V." She bit the end of his finger playfully. "Five luscious hours. I'll close my eyes right now so you just give it a taste. The man told me it was the best you could buy on the black market. From before the wars. Just taste it. For me."

"No. Not tonight." She still had her teeth in the leather when he pulled his hand away. The glove slipped off and hung dangling from her mouth. She laughed, dropping the gauntlet into her hand and tossing it aside.

"Oh, I see what you would like instead. I prepared for that too." Evey leaned around him and picked something off the table. She pointed down the hall, extending her hand and arm. He heard a distant click as the Wurlitzer came to life. "I plugged it into a timer switch and programmed this remote for the power. Look." She held up the electronic remote. "Clever of me, eh?" He heard the Wurlitzer whir and the first haunting bars of Barber's _Adagio_ began to play. He inhaled sharply. _God, God, I can't do this. _

She lowered her voice and made a humming sound like she was coaxing a wild animal to take food from her hand."Now now. Come with me, my love. Come." She slid off his lap and tugged at both hands to bring him to his feet. He followed her numbly past the piano, past the Wurlitzer and its cheerful lights, past the cinema room to the leather sofa. He allowed her to set him down, and then she sat next to him, still holding his hands.

"Remember this?" She asked him. "Remember this? Wine and love and laughter. Right here. Are you feeling better? There's more." She cupped a hand around his porcelain cheek before reaching behind him to the sofa table and bringing forward a little enamel box. She placed it in his hand. "Open it."

He obeyed her, lifting the hinged lid to reveal what looked like yards of black silk twirled and whirled into patterns of wild abandon. "It's your sash." He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at it. He felt the box jiggle and become lighter as she removed the sash from the box. "Take off the mask, my love, for I mean to kiss you."

He hesitated, waited too long, delaying, resisting…so long that she became impatient. Her hands were on the chin of the mask and she pushed it up herself, exposing him to the Gallery, to her searching hands, and to himself. His eyes flew open as the cool air struck his face. She was blindfolded, the shining sash wrapped around her head twice, covering her eyes completely. The long ends cascaded over each of her shoulders and lay on her breasts. She fumbled with the straps, blind, trying to get the mask off without taking the wig with it. He helped her remove the mask, pulling it through his hair and then he set it aside on the sofa table. Her hands now felt him, his shoulders, his chest, his throat, his hair. She said, "I can see you more clearly now, V, than with my eyes." She pressed her lips against his, taking his bottom lip in her teeth and pulling it into her mouth, sucking gently until he responded.

And respond he did. He seized her shoulders with both hands, and pressed her back into the sofa, laying her down beneath him and covering her with his body. _I cannot resist any longer, even though I might_ crush_ her with my passion_. _Gently, gently_, he warned himself. He captured her mouth with his own, pulling her up to meet his lips, drinking her in as he would not the wine, breathing her in deeply until he heard her gasp for air. Then he moved his lips to her cheek, her ear, the curve of her jaw, then the graceful expanse of her neck. _This is what I want. Not food. Not wine. Eve is my sustenance_. He felt her clutch at him, he heard the soft sounds of pleasure she made, murmurs like the downy touch of feathers. He felt neither pain nor constraint as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, trailed his nose and lips across her shoulder, pushed aside the straps of the red dress and over her breast. The little nipple inserted itself into his mouth. It rose to meet his tongue with stiff enthusiasm as he cupped the yielding flesh with a naked hand. Waves of pleasure coursed through him, urging him to delve deeper, compelling him to grasp at what he could not truly possess. She moved beneath him, adjusting for this weight on her body. He felt her little hand snaking across his back, smoothing over his buttocks and diving beneath his doublet. _Oh, God._ A moment later, after a tug and a release, she had him. Her hand was warm, like velvet on his burgeoning desire, stroking and teasing and forcing him to arch up over her breasts to get some air. "Not so fast," he managed to breathe. "Don't rush me."

"I'm not rushing you, I want it twice." She lifted her head to kiss him, matching her tongue in his mouth with the strokes of her hand. He was so poised, so ready, so full of her he nearly climaxed; his lower back was already tensing, ready to thrust himself into her, into her hand, her mouth, her body. Into _her_. Ready to feel again that blissful release, the shining spear of pleasure that gored him only when he was with her. He felt it only when he had her in his arms, only when he could feel himself merge his strength to her receptive and yielding body. _But no_, he pulled back, separated himself from her grasp. He sat up, trembling with the effort. He held her down with one hand when she made a move to come up with him. He concentrated, his other hand on her wrist keeping her from touching him. One touch and he would be gone. He held as still as he could until the peak had subsided. The danger was past, but still he throbbed. Her hand moved again, though she acquiesced to his silent request and moved it up instead of down, away from his obvious need. He bent to allow her to contact his face with her hands. The fingers explored his lips, his nose; he closed his eyes as the little fingertips touched his lids and smoothed over his brow. Her hands were cool and smooth.

He tried to steady his breathing, to keep his body from betraying him. If he held his breath he felt dizzy, even faint, if he allowed himself to take in the air he needed she would hear his distress. For a moment he wavered between the two, but she knew. She knew.

"V," she whispered. "What's wrong?"

He lied, "Nothing is wrong." Then he spoke the truth, "I don't want to hurt you. Like last time."

She smiled at him. You won't hurt me. I'm ready for you. I've had you before. Many times. Many wonderful times. Yes, sometimes you can be a bear, but not tonight. Come back down here and let me touch you." She fumbled for his doublet. He remained passive, still as death while she released the fastenings and tugged the heavy silk from his body. "Ah," she said as the cloth hit the floor beside the sofa with a muted thump. "This is what I want, V." Her hands searched him for more clothing, but he was effectively stripped down to his boots. "Take them off. I'll wait." He sat up long enough to pull the leather boots from his calves and follow them with his trousers. At the sound of the thump when the second boot hit the floor, she reached for him and drew his body over hers, parting her lips, ready for him. "Kiss me now," she whispered.

The sound of her voice convinced him that resisting would only prolong his agony. She was determined. She was insistent. She was …him. He bent over her and kissed her lips. His hands cradled her as his mouth expressed his love for her. Below, he felt her hands cradle him. He did not have the energy to defy her this time, but lifted himself onto his hands and knees, taking his weight from her body and arching over her. He devoured her mouth, tugged at her curls with his fingers, prepared to consume her again. Yet even as he slowly released his restraints, permitting himself the luxury of immersion in her body and her scent, she was rapidly destroying his fetters with her velvet touch. He had to stop kissing her, stop breathing her, for she had both hands on him now and was squeezing with one while stroking him with the other, driving him to madness. He blinked helplessly as the last rational thought left his mind. He braced himself above her, gripped the sofa beneath him with both hands, felt the crescendo approach him; knew he would not be able to stop it.

"Eve…" he breathed, "ah…" Already his muscles were working for her and against him, his traitorous hips responded to her gentle pulls, his disloyal thighs trembled with the strain of keeping him steady, fighting against the signals his brain was sending to his spinal cord. _If I let go, I am doomed._ Another stroke, another, and his ears burned with the effort. "No, Eve, not yet," he gasped, halfheartedly trying to remove her hands from him by moving his hips out of her reach. She only gripped him harder, he could hear her steady determined breathing beneath him as he felt his will being stripped away. She touched him again and again, in desperation he pulled himself up vertically, arched his back to keep his hips from thrusting uncontrollably into her hands.

She now lay languid between his knees. He could look down on her and see the red dress mussed, the black silk sash mingling with the red straps. Her red lips smiled, slightly parted with pleasure and delight. In dismay he watched her sit up. She followed him up, on hand slid up his abdomen, over his belly button and up to his chest, locating a nipple. He jerked hard, arched back even further as her blind touch electrified him, sent waves of energy from his nipple to his cock. His own ragged breath sounded loud in his ears as she used her searching hand to guide her mouth to his chest and latch onto the nipple with gentle teeth. She pulled with one hand while sucking his nipple with her mouth and he exploded, thrusting mightily into her, feeling the release, a blot of energy blasting through his head, his body on fire with the intensity of his orgasm. Still it continued as he pumped hot fluids into her hands, across her breasts, under her chin. He heard her throaty laugh as she cupped his balls as he continued to empty them. Now his dizziness overwhelmed him and he felt himself sway. She caught him before he could topple from the sofa and laid him back carefully on the cushions.

He panted, getting his breath back, his limbs felt like jelly. His eyes were closed. He heard her laugh softly again. "Okay, V. That worked way better than the Champagne. You are a bit more relaxed, now. Not so stiff and uptight. I have done my duty. God, V, you needed that. Rest up, for the night has just begun."

"It won't do to exhaust me. I have work tonight." He could barely get the words out. Work was the last thing on his mind now. He opened his eyes. She was poised over him, between his legs. The long strands of the sash hung down across his belly and thighs. She was smiling, only her mouth and the tip of her little nose were visible beneath the sash.

"I've seen you in action. This little interlude won't faze you a bit."

"Ah." It was all he could say. _She has addled my brain just hours before I will need all my faculties._

"Are you hungry now? Can you eat now? You need to have something."

He registered a bit of hunger. She was right. He did feel better. He sat up slowly, adjusted the wig. "Yes. I do feel better."

"Good." She leaned over the edge of the sofa and fumbled around on the floor until she found his tunic and lifted it for him. "I didn't mean to get you undressed. That was not part of the plan."

"There was a plan?"

She squeezed his knee. "Yes. You've taught me that. There is a plan for everything." He laughed. They were both startled by the sound. She cocked her head, "Yes. I can hear you feel much better. Then I prescribe this medicine more often. Maybe once a day."

"Oh…" he said as he took tunic from her and shrugged it onto his shoulders. The pleasant feeling had faded a bit with her words. "Maybe not every day, Eve."

As he fastened the doublet she felt around on the table for his mask. When her fingers touched it she paused. "You can't eat in this. I can eat blindfolded. If you get me to the table we might be able to actually have tea together. Some Champagne."

"It's a plan." He fastened the last eye hook at his throat and stood. He prepared to lift her and carry her to the table, but had to stop. "You're a mess, Eve. The dress is ruined, and well, you are marked in a way." Her hand touched the dress from her waist to the bodice and up the straps, confirming his diagnosis. He could see several damp areas spotting the red silk almost black.

"That was also not part of the plan." She smirked, "Well, there are always variables."

He stiffened. The last vestiges of residual warmth were chased away by her words. _Yes. Variables. _He reached for the mask. "Take off your mask, Eve. Mine is on. I will give you a few minutes and then meet you in the kitchen for tea."


	22. Chapter 22

Adagio

Rated PG

Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and WB

* * *

_Greensleeves _seemed to be playing longer than it should. Evey stepped up to the Wurlitzer and peered down through the plastic. _The status bar is set on "continual repeat". It must be a mistake. V makes very few mistakes. Strange. And this song…a nice song for a dinner party, a wine tasting_, she smiled, _or lovemaking. But it is too sad, violins and guitar and a male voice, a soft baritone. Not a song for tonight. Tonight is the victory night. Tchaikovsky should be playing. He should have set the _1812 Overture_ to continual play._ She bent her head to look at all the controls. _I have to turn this off_. She could not find the button that controlled continuous repeat, so she pulled the power cord. The Wurlitzer when dark just as the singer finished the line, "_Now I remain in a world apart_".

_He should be back soon. He's been gone two hours, long enough to give me time to shower and change_, _not so long I need to worry_. Evey turned back to the kitchen. _And when he comes back, what a surprise I will have ready for him. _She passed by the full-length mirror in the dressing room, stopped to admire her reflection._ Oh, he loves this dress_. She turned sideways and smoothed down the satin. The ivory evening gown draped gracefully from her breasts to her toes and glimmered in the light. She spun once to watch the full skirt swirl and come to rest again around her ankles_. He brought me this for waltzing in. We will waltz tonight, right after supper, and then I will change for the trip while he puts on his disguise. An evening gown would not do for getting in and out of a Mini, or for a Channel crossing. _She had jeans and a blouse ready for that_. We can watch the fireworks, and then I will bring him back in for this late supper_. She had been cooking all day. He knew it. She caught him watching her once but he didn't say anything. _He is letting me pretend it's a secret. He didn't even ask_. She felt a little disappointed. _He knows I've been baking, but not what I've made. His favorites._ She checked the fridge again. _Cheesecake. Baguettes. Pate with truffles, though I didn't make the pate. I did bake the bread I will spread it on, though. And Champagne._ She looked at the polished flutes on the table, the crimson tablecloth and the bone china, the bowl of grapes and the brie. _This is going to be so good. And I know he will be a little tired, well not too tired, really. What has he got left to do? The train has been ready for weeks. No problem. I will make love to him again. I will just lay him out and love him. And then I will show him the tickets, the keys to the little Mini I have hidden around the corner. And we will waltz. _

_Dominic. Yes. And Dominic will have to be released just before we go._ _Better make sure he has a full stomach!_ Evey took a platter from the cupboard and filled it with pate, one of the baguettes, the grapes and a triangle of brie. She tucked a bottle of Chardonnay under her arm, the corkscrew and glasses she placed on the platter. She carried it all carefully to the cell.

"Dominic?" She leaned against the door.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"What? You are my jailer. You don't have to ask."

"Not tonight. Tonight you are my guest." Evey couldn't keep the triumph from her voice. "Tonight I have brought you a very nice supper."

"Then by all means, come in, Miss Hammond."

She set the tray down and unlocked the door. When the door opened he turned on his side to face her. She saw his eyes reflecting the light from the corridor. "Here. Let me turn up the lamp." She turned up his lamp, retrieved the tray, leaving the door open. His eyes brightened in the increased light.

"I like your uniform, tonight, Warden." The edge of his mouth crinkled into a grin.

Evey laughed, her merriment spilled out just as her breasts nearly did when she bent over him. "Oh, tonight is special, very special."

"Is it the Fifth?" Dominic lost some of his cheer. She saw him look through the opening into the hall, apprehensive.

"He's gone right now, getting ready for tonight." Evey put the corkscrew on the neck of the bottle and began to twist. "It's the Fourth right now, but not for too much longer. He'll be back just before midnight. For the finale."

Dominic sat up slowly, dropped his blanket. "Is that what he told you? What have you brought?"

"Oh, some very nice things. Very nice. And they are best when shared." She poured the wine into both glasses and handed him his. "This is a very special wine. It is cool and crisp and tastes like summertime. Do you remember hot hot days when you ran through the grass in the meadow, skipped down the hill and jumped into the pond? That's what it tastes like." Evey beamed at him as he put the glass to his lips. "It is a tiny glimmer of summer I have brought down here for you. Outside it is frigid, it is cloudy, it might rain. The sky is black and there is no moon, but in here, underground, in a jail cell we will have sunshine and new-mown grass and the delights of being a child again." She raised her glass. "To summer."

"To summer." He echoed, and took a sip, though his gaze did not stray from her face. His eyes shone on her.

"Oh, it is delightful, is it not?" Evey took another sip, closing her eyes to experience the cool sweet taste of summer in the country. She could almost feel a warm fresh breeze on her skin.

"Yes. Delightful." But the way he said it… she opened her eyes… he said it like it wasn't the wine he found delightful. Evey heard the quality of the tone and lowered her glass. She frowned a little. Dominic saw her studying him, raised the glass in a toast again. Evey set hers down. _He_ _is looking at me, those expressive brown eyes, those long lashes. He…_" The back of her neck tingled. _He is looking at me as though_…she wouldn't allow herself to complete the thought.

She stood up abruptly. "Well. Enjoy your supper, Detective. I must go. There are things that need to be done. I will be back before too long to let you out." She spun on her heel and clicked the heavy door behind her, perhaps with a little too much force. She set the key carefully on the floor of the corridor directly in front of the door. _This is the_ _last time I will be locking that door._ She heard him inside, his voice raised in volume to penetrate the steel between them.

"Thank you, Miss Hammond. Thank you."

_He is a good man_, she thought as she passed through the corridors. _But I have a better one_.

_And here he is, now_. She heard the main entry door as it made its characteristic clicking sounds as the security system released its many locks.

She waited, pausing dramatically next to a pillar, arranging the skirt of her gown and turning her shoulders in such a way to make the thin straps look like they were barely holding up the dress. The door swung open, but V was not there. She waited a moment longer; _perhaps he is planning a dramatic entrance as well_. Still nothing. Then a sound. A sound that did not register in her ears at first, because it was the last sound she expected to hear on this auspicious night.

A groan. Then his voice, soft, but pitched in a way to get her attention. "Eve. Follow me."

She took a step way from the pillar, listened harder. _Maybe I didn't hear right_. But the door was wide open, and V was not standing at the threshold. She moved to the threshold herself, put her hand on the frame. She looked left and right. A few feet from her on the ground was a black shape that looked suspiciously like his hat. She went out into the tunnel, not stopping to close or lock the door. _What is he doing?_ She knelt to pick up the hat. It was damp. The light was poor in the tunnel she couldn't be sure she saw him. Something moved up ahead, like a shadow. _There he is. Oh. He is heading for the train. For the stairs that go to the next level down. Well, of course. It's after eleven._ She tucked his hat under her arm, intending to return it to him, but the soggy felt of the brim was misshapen and the crown was stiff with some kind of metal. She held it out in front of her and tried to see it in the light from the doorway. It was covered with blood. Now she could smell it. She dropped the hat. _Blood? He killed some more people tonight? That would explain his silence and his reticence to talk to me about his plans. He always is quiet before a murder._ She bent down to pick it up again and then she noticed the blood on the ground. Lots of it. It was everywhere.

_Oh. He has a man over his shoulder, right? Like Dominic? That's what this is_. But she knew that could not be true. He would have come into the Gallery. Warm thoughts of summer were frozen with a wintertime blast. She trembled, left the hat on the ground and began to follow the trail. Then stopped. _His_ _blood_. _He has some in the fridge? His own blood? Like last time? A needle in his arm? __No. I have been all over the fridge today. There is no blood inside._ Ahead, she heard him call her name. She grabbed up the folds of her skirt and sprinted toward the train, kicking off her shoes on the second and third stride. The sound of his voice sent waves of fear through her body, for something was wrong. _Terribly wrong._ As her pounding feet matched the pounding of her heart she strained her ears to hear more. After a year of living with him every tone, every nuance of his voice was as familiar to her as her own. And this sound he had made in her name told her he was suffering and even…she swallowed…desperate. She put on a burst of speed, the full skirt whipping around her knees and she nearly flew down the staircase. His dark form neared the bottom ahead of her, the cape dragging the stair behind him, smearing the steps with a wide swath of blood. She grabbed at the banister, dropped her skirt and came to a sudden stop. She froze in shock. _There he is._ Far below her. He was not carrying anyone. He was alone. _The blood must be his._ It would have to be. There was too much of it to merely be spatter from a victim. She pulled her dress away from the stair so she could see her feet. More than drops. More. Thick smears from the trailing cloak made a red carpet a yard wide down the center of the stair. She had treaded in it; her feet were stained with it. Her eyes flashed up from her feet and down to him at the bottom of the stair. "V!" she cried. Echoes of his name resounded through the tunnel.

He stopped, turned to look up at her; she saw the mask bright in the lights from the train. Then he lurched hard against the balustrade, bent nearly double over the rail. Evey picked up her skirt and raced down the stair, one hand always on the banister, slipping every now and then in the blood as she rounded the turns. He had stopped, clutching the rail, waiting for her. Evey could not run fast enough and he could not wait long enough. She saw him lean forward, tipping slowly, then he went down. He tumbled the last five steps to the bottom. Evey heard the sickening thumps as his body hit the ground. He lay face down at the foot of the staircase, crumpled in a heap of black and red. Evey was on him a moment later.

"V! Oh my god, what happened?" She rolled him onto his back; put her hand to his neck. "You've been shot," she answered her own question as her eyes quickly touched his body from head to foot. Small holes here evident in his doublet from his waist to his neck. He was not just shot. He was peppered with bullets. _But he is wearing a vest, right?_ Evey's fingers probed his chest, nimbly searching for the edges of the Kevlar. No vest, but the doublet was ripped and torn. She lifted it, tore away the remaining silk to expose his black undershirt. _No holes._ She made a choking sound. _He had been wearing one, now it is gone. _But little holes were evident in the places where the vest had not been, little holes like tiny mouths, spitting blood, opening and closing under her fingers. He drew his legs up in pain when she touched the raw flesh of the holes in his shoulder, his sides, and over his hips. Those holes went through him. Evey stopped counting at fourteen. _Fourteen holes. That I can see_. Her eyes went to his face. Scars slashed the mask, great gouges nicked the porcelain. _Bullet grazes. He must be bruised so badly beneath it. The mask must have smashed him as the bullets hit. His nose must be broken; his lips must be swollen where they had been crushed against his teeth. _Evey put a hand to the straps. But his arm came up and stopped her. "Can you breathe?" she gasped. "Can you breathe?'

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"Let me get your blood. Where is it? I didn't see it in the fridge." She shook her arm to release his grip on her and he dropped her wrist. She caught his hand as it fell and brought it down gently to the ground.

"No. No blood." He was hoarse.

"No blood? No needle?" Evey whipped off his leather gauntlet and pushed up the sleeve to bare his arm. _No needle._ "V! What were you thinking? Why not? God. I have to get you to hospital."

"No. I'd be dead before you got me up the stairs." He turned his head, the mask moved. He was looking at her. "Eve, I was afraid you wouldn't hear me. Afraid you wouldn't come." His voice was weak, the words slurred. _His mouth is hurt. I knew it._

"What? What are you saying?" Evey checked over him once more. Bandages? Tourniquets? Her mind flashed through her memory of the textbooks_. I should have studied harder. The moment has come and my mind is blank. His lungs are safe, his chest. The vest has protected him. He will survive this. He is just weak. He has been bleeding. A lot. Where is it coming from? Which of the fourteen holes is killing him the fastest?_ She searched for his belt, intending to use one of the knives to rip the doublet and undershirt to shreds so she could more clearly see his wounds. It was gone. Not under him, not on the ground, not on the stair.

"Where are your knives?" she asked. Fear colored her voice. It sounded shrill to her own ears.

"I don't need them anymore." He turned his head and raised his hand again, waving it feebly toward her face.

"What? What?" She captured the seeking hand and kissed the bare fingers.

"Listen to me, Evey. I know it will be hard for you to understand…"

"Understand? Understand?" Evey released his hand and pulled the collar of his undershirt down from his neck, and unhooked the cloak. _A neck wound. Yes. This one is still bleeding._ A viscous ribbon of dark blood poured from a hole in his neck. Evey yanked the edge of his cloak up from behind his shoulders and pressed a handful of the wool into the wound. His body stiffened and he tried to roll to his side.

"Ahhh…" the cry emanated from beneath the mask. "Stop, Eve, stop. Ahh…"

"I'm sorry. I have to. And there are more wounds; I do not have enough hands to stop the bleeding in all of them." She tried not to sound as desperately frightened as she felt.

"Even if you had eight hands, Eve. Stop. Stop. Don't you see?" He writhed under her hand. "Stop. Oh God, Eve, stop."

Evey found another bullet hole in his upper chest, just above where the vest must have been. That one was bleeding bright red. Every now and then it bubbled. _One did nick his lung. God. _She covered that one with her other hand. She leaned over him, searching with her eyes for more. _If I can just press on each one…_

"Eve. Eve. You are not listening to me."

"No. Because you are telling me to stop. And I will never stop. I will find each little hole and plug it up and then I will get you back upstairs and put you to bed. Then I will get you some soup and… and… and…' she felt dizzy, tried to think, couldn't get past the feeling of the warm blood oozing up between her fingers. Warm, but cooling immediately as it encountered the November air.

"Eve. My Love. Please. He lifted his hand, "Get me to my train, Eve. I was trying to get back to it. Help me up." He rolled beside her, Evey tried to push him back down but he was still stronger than she was. He pushed against the ground and got to his knees. "It's not far. Help me."

"No. You need to lie still. You are bleeding. Your heart is pumping the blood out; you need to slow your heart rate. You will go into shock, as your blood pressure drops you will lose consciousness, you will shake, and then convulse, and then…" Evey couldn't finish the litany; she knew what came after the convulsions. She pressed harder on the bubbling wound in his chest. "I can do this. Lie down."

He put both hands on her shoulders, the mask level with her eyes. "I am dying, Eve. I have half an hour, maybe less. I want to spend it with you. Don't be thinking of anything else. Don't rob me of this time, these last few minutes. I called for you to come and be with me. Get me to the train, Evey. Give me a Viking funeral. I want to be on my train." He slumped to the side, "But I can't seem to get up." Evey caught him as he fell back, and lowered his head gently to the ground again. "And it is so dark."

"Why?" She bent over him, touched her nose to the nose of the mask. "Why?" Evey put her hands on his head, one on either side of his face. "We are leaving, we are going. It's all over now. Time for a holiday."

"To Paris. I know. I couldn't tell you, Eve, you would have tried to stop me."

"I am stopping you now."

"No. It is too late. You can't save me Eve. You can't."

"Why? Why?" Her throat tightened with tears and she let them fall. "Why are you doing this?"

"Creedy's dead. Sutler's dead. They're dead, Eve. Dead. Get me to my train. And it will be over." He moved again like he would get up, but managed only to raise his shoulders before dropping his head back to the cement. "Help me, Eve. Please."

Evey glanced at the train, waiting there on its tracks. The strong scent of roses emanated from the open doors. It waited there just a few yards away. _Close._ Evey got the strange feeling the train was alive. _Alive and waiting for him_. Like the Angel of Death waiting to take him away. Valerie was coming to claim him.

"He's mine!" Evey shouted at her. "You can't have him!" Her words echoed back at her from the curved walls of the tunnel. Mocking her. She heard Big Ben strike half past.

"Eve. Eve." He tugged at her arm. "Please."

She looked down at him, angry now. _He wants to go with her; he wants his holiday with her._ Her mind was getting fuzzy around the edges and she knew it. "Why are you doing this?" she sobbed.

"Hold me, Eve, and I will tell you." He pushed off from the ground again and sat up, leaning toward her. Evey caught him in her arms. The tunnel wall was cold and hard at her back, propping her up. His head lolled back on her shoulder and he took her hand in his. She kissed the top of his head. He was heavy.

"I can't stay here. I told you that yesterday." His voice was warm, but weak. His breathing slowed. His hand felt cold in hers.

"You did?" Evey thought back to the day before, which was years in the past.

"I told you. You weren't listening."

"I don't understand." And she didn't. There wasn't anything he could tell her that would make her see. She would not accept any explanation for this waste. For this unnecessary tragedy. This drama that should never have been performed. He could stay. She would take care of him. They would leave the country. He would be free of his memories here. They would start a new life, a life free of pain and fear.

"I know you can't and this has been the most difficult thing I have ever done. I have left you some letters. In my desk in the Gallery. When I am dead please read them."

"You aren't going to die," Evey didn't believe her own words. Already he felt even heavier. Already he was sagging against her.

He sighed. "I can't live. Evey. I can't. I have told you over and over. I died years ago. The man you love is not a man at all. A long time ago, Evey, almost in this very spot, I made a decision. I decided I would not die quietly. I decided I would not hide in a hole like a rat. I have spent nearly twenty years living only for this day. And it has come. Help me get up. Help me, Eve. Please."

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the heel of her hand. He tried to stand up, his breathing was so hard, so labored. Evey supported herself against the tunnel wall and lifted him, her hands under his arms. He came up slowly, lurched against her, braced his booted feet against the wall. She held him. He turned the mask toward the train. "Please. Please." He took one step toward the gaping doors, just one step, then collapsed again to the ground. Evey went down with him.

"You can't," she said to him. "You have to stay here with me," She brushed the wig hair away from the mask.

"I have to go, Eve."

"Why?"

"Listen to me, oh, God, Eve, you must listen to me this…time. Please listen this time." The last word was choked as he bent himself double. "Oh my god," he gasped. "Oh god. Ah…unnnnhh"

Evey put a hand out to him, realization coming to her slowly. _He is dying. He lies twisting in agony soaked in puddles of his own blood. I can't save him this time. _Evey touched him softly on his shoulder, "Don't try to stand up again." She heard herself whisper to him. "You are making it worse."

"Promise… you will put me… on my train."

"I promise."

He relaxed then, sighed deeply as though hearing her promise took the pain away. "They took my blood, Eve," He inhaled slowly, "They made… a weapon with it."

"What are you talking about?" Evey leaned over him. She took his hand, needing to hold him, afraid to hurt him. _He is raving now. His mind is going._

"The Virus. Your brother, Eve. The children, the water plant, the underground. It was me, Eve. All my fault."

"No, it can't be." Evey frowned. She tried to placate him for he was becoming agitated, she could hear him inhaling loudly, in short breaths. "And even if it was, you cannot be held responsible," she told him, petting him, stroking him, calming him.

"No," he said. He took his hand from hers and curled himself up on his side. He held his arms tightly across his abdomen, hugging himself. "I see their faces," he breathed, "when I close my eyes." His next breath caught on a sob. "And they can do it again, Eve. If they get me. I can never let them have me again." He began to weep, his shoulders shaking.

Evey lay down next to him; put her face to the mask. She encircled him with her arms. "You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault." He stopped moving. The sound of his sobs ceased, he went silent. The tension left his limbs and he lay limply in her embrace. Evey sat up quickly. She rolled him onto his back again and lifted his shoulders onto her lap. "V!" she cried. She dug her fingers under the mask, under his chin seeking a pulse. _Yes._ Still alive, but unconscious. Using all her strength she lifted him to lie on her chest, elevated, so she could hug him to her. _He is dying. He's right about that. And I can't fix this. I can't._ She was surprised she felt so calm. _I should be screaming. I should be hysterical_. Instead everything around her reached a clarity she had never before imagined. The very walls, the rubble, the tracks, the train seemed to vibrate with a powerful presence; she could see everything in sharp focus. Big Ben, as it struck again three quarters, seemed to toll with languid tones, the bells dragged on and on, sounding longer and deeper than they should have been. She felt lifted out of time. Timelessness. This moment was being frozen for her, forever vibrant. She knew it. She knew she could revisit this moment in her memory for the rest of her life. In her arms, V stirred.

She held his head under her chin, the way he used to hold her. The wig, soft and silky, brushed the skin under her jaw while the edge of the mask, hard and sharp, thrust itself painfully into her collarbone. Evey tried not to feel that, or the warm trickle of his life as it made its way down her neck and between her breasts to pool in her lap. He was still bleeding, and he shivered violently every few minutes as his body desperately tried to warm itself, to fend off the cold shadow of impending death. And this was the blood she could see and feel and smell. Inside, there was likely even more blood leaking, pooling, killing him.

He held himself very still between the cruel quivers, his breath remained shallow and weak. She knew it hurt him even to move his chest enough to bring in the air his lungs needed to speak. He was heavy on her body. So very heavy.

"V," she bent her mouth to his ear. "Can you hear me, Love? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." His fingers twitched. She clasped his hand in hers. _So strong, so large. Twice the size of my hand. __This hand, this strong, strong hand that has wielded a murderous blade and has caressed my face, is now lifeless and limp_. She rubbed his hand, stroked the fingers, felt the scars and the smooth expanse of the ruined skin. "I'm here."

"Evey," the word was a puff of air, just a puff blown through the mouth hole of the mask.

"Shhh, save your breath, my love." Evey was afraid to squeeze him, though her arms ached to hug him to her. Any pressure would only cause more pain.

"Sing for me," he whispered. "Please."

_Sing?_ _What?_ Evey felt the tears come. She had been waiting, knowing her eyes would soon sting with them. She had been hoping to delay their choking onslaught. The first hot drop rolled down her cheek and disappeared into his hair. That single drop was the vanguard of the army of tears she knew would soon overwhelm her and crush her heart with their violence. "Sing…?" _Impossible._

"_Greensleeves_…please…" his fingers moved. He was trying to squeeze her hand.

Evey drew in a breath, forced her memory to access the words to that old song, an old old song. _So this is why he had it on the Wurlitzer_. A song that was old when Guy Fawkes wheeled his barrels of gunpowder beneath the Parliament buildings. _The first word will be the hardest_. _Do it_ she told herself. _Do it_. _Do it for him. He wants it. Give it to him._

"_Alas, my love, _she made herself keep her voice steady, calm. The melody was sweet and sad_… you do me wrong…"_ she took another shaky breath, "_To cast me off discourteously_…"

He sighed and slipped lower down her body as he relaxed. "I'm sorry to cast you off, Eve," he whispered.

Evey paused, unable to catch her breath. She gripped him tighter, knowing she was hurting him, but unwilling to allow him to slide completely away from her.

"Sss….ssing," he breathed.

"_For I have loved you so long…_," Evey wept, unable to continue. He moved his head, she heard him inhale. "Sssing…" he said.

She made the effort. "…_delighting in your company_." Evey finished.

"I'm so…grateful… to you, Eve. Your company…"

He moaned softly, moved his fingers insistently. _He wants the whole song. Oh God_. She sang the chorus sotto voce to him while another part of her tried to remember the next verse. "_Your vows you've broken like my heart, Oh why did you so enrapture me? Now I remain in a world apart, but my heart remains …in captivity._" Evey paused to weep some more. She could not stop herself, even though she knew the shaking of her shoulders was shaking him, and that each sob must be causing him pain.

"My heart remains…" he whispered. Then he groaned and then bent forward; the weight of his body had become too much for her to support and now it was too much for him to keep upright. He slid down her chest, over her belly and rolled from her legs to lay prone on the hard ground beside her. Evey opened her eyes and her arms to the horror that marked her with his blood. She was soaked, coated and swathed with his blood; stained a brilliant crimson with his blood. From her neck to her knees his blood was her blanket. The next moment she felt the November air as it touched her sodden clothing and left her with an icy chill. She looked at her bloody hands, eyes wide, her mind blank. _He is bleeding to death. Now. Right now_. _It is happening now._

Evey threw herself down along the cold cement beside him, desperately reached for him. She could hear him breathing. _He is still here with me. He is still here_. "V?"

His hand moved, searching blindly for her. She took it. He struggled with another breath that lifted his chest. "Sing…" he said.

Evey shut her eyes. _I can't. I can't. I can't even do the last thing he asks of me._ She sobbed. _I don't remember the next verse. I don't want to sing_.

He inhaled again, and Evey was startled to hear his baritone, weak, but with perfect pitch, "_I have been ready at your hand…_" he pressed her hand with his fingers as he exhaled.

_If I don't sing, then he will. No. no. _She took it up for him, interrupting him as he tried to voice the next line . "…_to grant whatever you would crave, I have wagered both life and land_…" She held his hand, bent over the mask. _He can still hear me_. "_Your love and goodwill for to have._"

"I have wagered, and won…" he whispered to her.

Evey leaned closer, squeezed his hand. "I have you here in my arms."

His life was slowly leaving him, his uneven breaths now ever more shallow, more softly made, and farther apart. His shivering was no longer violent; instead he merely shook periodically with his body's final feeble attempt to keep him alive. Now Evey paused in her song, ignored his insistent fingers twitching in her palm. "I will sing for you, my love, if that is what you want to hear. But first I must kiss you." She put his hand down and pushed on the chin of the mask, lifting it far enough to see his lips. They were bloody, his teeth glistened red behind them, his chin the color of brick with his blood. His lips were parted, he was breathing. They moved, she saw his tongue try to form a word. Evey took his hand in hers again. She bent down and kissed him, tasting his blood, its metallic tang stabbed at her. She took his bottom lip in her teeth like she always did, then reluctantly released it for the last time. In her hand his fingers moved. The lips pressed together then opened. "Sss…ing," he whispered.

Before she could draw a breath to comply, she was knocked back as his body jerked. He thrashed; his heels struck the cement as his legs kicked in a spasm, his back arched as each cell in his body protested the absence of oxygen. His head came up for a moment before striking the ground with a sickening thud. Evey clutched at his shoulders, terrified, and pressed him down hard. She leaned into him, her heart pounding with dismay. Then the paroxysm ceased as suddenly as it began. He lay quiet now, limp, gasping for air. Very slowly he moved his hand, she took it in hers again. His fingers twitched. His voice now almost too faint to hear, "Finish it," he begged her. _He knows there is no more time._

Shattered by his frightening convulsion, Evey could hardly breathe herself. Singing was out of the question. More tears dripped onto the mask, splashing amongst the blood that flecked the white smile. His fingers moved, he groaned. _He wants me to finish the song. God. I can't. _But she did.She remembered the last stanza. Her voice wobbled; the melody was no longer recognizable. "_I pray my constancy you may see, and that once before I die…"_Her voice shook _This is_ _not just a song. Not just an old song_. _This is his elegy._ She knew the last line. She stopped to weep again. The last line hung unsung in her mind. She couldn't bear to sound it aloud. She couldn't bear to hear the words, knowing he was waiting for them. Knowing he was holding on to hear them. Knowing he would let go when the last word transpired from her lips.

With tremendous effort, he took a great breath. "Evey…" _God_, _he will compel me to finish the stanza_. _And I cannot deny him this last request. I cannot let him die without hearing it._ Evey sang, choking on the words, but forced herself to form the melodic last line. "_Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me._" She heard his breath catch in his throat as she finished.

His lips moved. She heard the airy whisper, "You vouchsafed to love me. . .you did…you loved me."

"Oh God," she cried. She kissed him again, though not on his mouth, for he was struggling for his next breath. She pressed her lips against his jaw, the mask bit her cheek as she bent over him. She sobbed into his ear, "You are my heart. My own. Mine. I love you so much."

Then for the first time ever, she saw him smile. "Love…you…Evey," he sighed.

The end was near. His shivering ceased, his fingers relaxed. Evey had to put her ear to his mouth to hear the wisp of air that escaped. She heard his last whisper, a sound cloaked with dreadful finality, "I…am…free…" then silence. His fingers no longer moved in her hand, his lips were still, now forever frozen in that last smile. A real smile.

Big Ben began to toll. Midnight.

* * *

cries 


	23. Chapter 23

Adagio

Epilogue

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB

* * *

Chief Inspector Finch stopped at the open door, pistol drawn. _The blood trail stops here. And there is his hat._ He swung the pistol left and right, supporting his wrist with his left hand. _No one. No sound. In this tunnel sound carries, I should be able to hear him._

_But no one hears him when he comes. _

_But the blood._ He looked down at the hat lying on the ground at his feet. _He is wounded. Badly. No one loses this much blood and lives. _The Inspector's brain did a quick calculation, gauging the amount of blood he had already tracked through the tunnel with the amount in a normal human body. _I should have come across his body some yards back. But he is not normal. There is enough blood here for two men._ He heard a sound beyond the open door. The blood did not continue across the threshold, it did not move from the rough cement to the smooth white flagstones. _He did not go inside. He is not in there. But someone is._ The pistol moved to cover the door as Finch stepped over the hat and entered the room. His ears strained to hear the sound again as his eyes and the pistol swept the interior. It was dark. Lights were off everywhere but in a far corridor. _The sound again. Coming from that hallway. A light pounding. Irregular. Like a man knocking on a door, but intermittently, as though tired of the task. Tired, but resigned. Dominic._ Finch picked up the pace, his eyes and ears projecting themselves ahead of him as he proceeded with caution down the lighted corridor. _Cell doors. Cell doors? Numbers on each one. Roman numerals. And the tired pounding, coming from door V. Of course._ He stopped. On the floor by the tip of his shoe lay a key. He spoke. "Dominic?"

"Chief? Chief? Oh no! That means…Chief! There should be a key right there!"

"There is."

"Put your gun away, quickly. Put it away! Hide it! Right now, Chief. Hurry! Can you hear him coming? No, you never do. Holster it, Chief."

Inspector Finch lowered the gun, frowned. Dominic's words made no sense, but his tone was unmistakable. _Urgent. Knowledgeable. Correct_. He opened his Mac and tucked the pistol into the holster under his arm, then bent to pick up the key. The tumblers were well oiled and the door opened easily and without a sound to reveal Dominic, bundled in what looked like piles of bedding, sitting on the floor of a jail cell. Beside him there was an old army camp bed, one leg taped, holding an elaborate tea tray. Finch narrowed his eyes. _Chardonnay? Pate? Caviar? Baguette?_ The disharmony of the stark cell and the lush prison food set him back a moment. He recovered quickly, deducing almost immediately the situation. Dominic was struggling to get to his feet. Finch reached for his arm to pull him up.

"Oh, ah! Inspector!" Dominic staggered against the wall, grimacing, then sank to the floor again.

"Dominic."

"It's my hand, Chief. Take it easy."

Finch bent down and lifted his partner, careful of his right hand, and steadied him against the cell wall. His eyes brushed him up and down, taking in every detail. He was clean, smelled like fresh soap. His clothing rumpled, but freshly washed. His face was smoothly shaven, his hair trimmed. _Someone is taking excellent care of him_. But there were circles under his eyes and worry lines around his mouth that Finch did not remember from a month ago. His eyes were deeper than they used to be. _Something has happened._ "Dominic." He gently lifted his partner's arm and studied the brace. It looked as though all the bones in his right hand had been crushed. The fingers were in splints, the wrist strapped firmly. Finch sighed. "You drew a bead on him. Too late, it seems."

"Yes. He is eerily fast, inspector. And you don't hear him coming. Did you see them out there?"

"No."

"She doesn't know, Chief. She doesn't know."

"The Hammond girl?"

"She doesn't know he means to die tonight. We have to get to her, I don't want her to find him dead in the tunnel, I don't want Creedy to get her. Hurry, help me."

"Creedy is dead. Sutler too."

"Then he got them. Good God. How did he do it? Shit."

"Broke Creedy's neck. Sutler was shot."

"Then he didn't kill Sutler. He hates guns. It wasn't him."

"I know."

"Creedy's dead?"

"Quite."

"And you didn't see either of them in the tunnel?"

"There's a lot of blood…"

"Oh no. Oh no. It's his. He let them shoot him. We have to find Evey."

"How do you know?"

"I figured it out." Dominic nodded toward the floor. Scattered around the little nest of blankets were books and several yellowed pieces of paper, each one written on in a fine copperplate…a woman's hand. Just short paragraphs, like love notes. "These old letters are written to him, from a woman talking to him about life and death, duty and honor. His mission. His mission is complete, Chief. And he spoke to me through the door yesterday. He told me to take care of Miss Hammond. That's all he said, he spoke to me through the door, 'Take care of her, Stone.' He sounded…" Dominic didn't finish, swallowed hard.

"She doesn't know?" Finch adjusted the sling around Dominic's shoulders; settled the injured hand carefully in the fold of cloth.

"No. I saw her tonight. She was giddy with happiness. She can't know. Chief, I can't let her find him dead alone in the tunnel. Help me." He lurched away from the wall, tried to balance himself on both feet.

"Can you not walk?"

"It's the painkillers. He keeps me drugged."

Finch took Dominic by his left arm, bore him up and steered him into the corridor. He nearly dragged him through the hall and back to the main entrance. "The blood trail goes this way," he said to the younger man. "Do you know where he went?"

"To the train."

"There's a train in here?"

"Yes. Hurry, Chief."

Finch did not switch on his torch. There was enough light coming from an area in front of them. He could hear scraping sounds up ahead, even over the shuffle of Dominic's bare feet on the ground and his partner's labored breathing in his ear. He followed the sound, was surprised to find himself at the top of a spiral stair. He braced Dominic against the metal rail and looked down.

"There she is," Dominic gasped, breathing hard against the rail. "That's her. She found him. She found him. God, we are too late."

Below them the tracks were well-lit with electric lights. Finch saw a slight woman in a red ball gown trying to drag a large pile of black cloth across the ground toward the open doors of a train. Not a pile of cloth. _The terrorist._ _He is dead, then._ She wasn't making any real progress. Codename V lay on his back, his cloak beneath him. She had the edges of the cloak in her hands and was jerking back, moving her grisly bundle an inch or two at a time. Behind him Dominic finally caught his breath.

"Evey!" He heard Dominic cry down to her over the railing.

The woman stopped, looked up at them. Dominic broke free from his grip and pounded down the stairs, lurching against the rail with every other step, sliding on the blood. Finch followed on his heels, reaching for his partner, trying to keep him from taking a header all the way down. "Dominic!" he called, his voice commanding him to stop. But Dominic made it to the bottom, running unevenly, tripping but not falling until he reached the Hammond girl. She was standing over the terrorist, her hands clenched, her jaw set firmly and her eyes defiant. At the bottom of the stair Finch drew his pistol and aimed it at her chest. Dominic saw the revolver, launched himself into the line of fire. Finch's pistol wavered. _Not good._ _Very bad form, _Finch frowned_. That goes against your training, old chum. Bad form._

"No, Inspector." Dominic said, panting with the effort of staying upright and leaning on the Hammond girl.

_She holds him confidently, but her eyes are on_ _me_. "Dominic," he warned.

"Put it away, Chief. She is no threat."

"Not to you perhaps."

Dominic turned his back on his partner. "Evey. Are you hurt? Are you shot?"

Finch stared down the line of his arms to his service revolver, down the barrel to the sight, all the way to the back of Dominic's head, and then down to the Hammond girl's chest. _She is not wearing a red ball gown. It is white. It used to be white. A white ball gown, no shoes, bare shoulders, thin straps. She is not shot. None of that is her blood._ His sharp eyes took in the train; through the lighted windows he could see tons and tons of explosives. _Enough to take out Parliament. And then some. _He heard the Hammond girl speak.

"Help me." Her voice was strong, but muted. Her expressive eyes did the entreating for her. She was looking at Dominic. Then she turned the eyes on him. He felt them on him. They felt soothing and uncomfortable at the same time. He had never seen eyes like that. The eyes loved him_. No. That can't be. What am I seeing?_ The revolver wavered again. He felt his brain flipping through pages and pages of experience searching for a match. Trying to match what he saw in that girl's eyes. _It is love_. _Unconditional love. _He had seen it before. Never trained on him, though. _Always someone else. No. Even Cynthia never looked at me like this. Her eyes had always had a touch of the accusation in them. 'Why aren't you home? You missed Paul's school play. You smell like a morgue. Are you drinking again?'_ A split second of analysis, thirty years of police work condensed down to a moment in time: _the Hammond girl does not fear me_. _Like she knows me._ He lowered the revolver slowly to his side. _Impossible._

"Help me," she said again, and not waiting for them to comply, she bent down and picked up the edges of the cloak from either side of the terrorist's shoudlers. She leaned back. The body moved half a meter. Dominic immediately grabbed a handful of cloak with his left hand and put his back into it, helping her. The body slid with a sickening scrape one more meter toward the open doors of the train. Finch holstered his revolver. _I can't believe I'm doing this._ He took a step toward them both. They paused, waiting for him. He stepped over the terrorist's body, straddling it. He glanced meaningfully at Dominic. Dominic let go of the cloak and moved the Hammond girl to the side. Finch bent his knees and lifted the terrorist, his hands under the dead man's arms and raised him over his shoulder. The body was still warm and the pervasive odor of fresh blood reminded Finch of every crime scene he had ever seen. They all flashed through his mind, one after the other, a grisly slideshow of his past. It happened every time. _This is one more time_. With a groan he straightened his knees, lifting the body, then took an awkward step forward. V was heavy. _Well-muscled_, _a big man. Bigger than he looks on the monitors._ Dominic steadied the body as Finch took the step up into the train. He heard Dominic say to the Hammond girl, "Where do you want him, Evey?"

Her voice came from behind him, a whisper. "The bench." Finch bent his knees again, lowering himself and his burden to the floor of the train. He felt other hands unfolding Codename V from his shoulder and laying him out straight on the empty bench. The metallic odor of blood was overpowered by the scent of roses. The train was packed with them. Every block of explosives was covered with a bower of red roses. _The Carsons. Of course_. He brought his eyes to the mask. It was scarred with bullet tracks and splashed with blood. The harlequin grin was now a mere mockery of a smile. The Hammond girl brushed by him as he knelt there and put her hand on V's forehead. Then she bent over and kissed the mask's mouth. He heard Dominic breathing heavily near the door. The Hammond girl straightened, then looked down at him and smiled a drowsy smile. Her gentle eyes still said she knew him. _Impossible._

Her lips parted and he heard her say slowly, "It's time for you to get off, Inspector."

Her voice had a honey softness to it, he had heard this tone before. Dominic must have recognized it as well for his partner immediately took the three steps in the crowded aisle to her side and grabbed her arm.

"No Evey." You are getting off too. Come." He pulled on the Hammond girl, but she did not budge; she held on to a pole with both hands.

She smiled dreamily, "Go on. I have no more time." As if to confirm her statement Big Ben chimed the quarter hour. The lolling bells echoed in the tunnel.

Dominic tugged at her. "He doesn't want this for you, Evey. Come on. Get off the train."

"No."

Finch got to his feet and made a move to pick her up. _She will be easy to carry_. She saw him come for her and put up a hand to stop him.

"No, Inspector. 'Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended'…"

"And you _won't_ be, by God." Finch was startled to hear the harsh snap in Dominic's voice. His partner circled her waist with his good arm and dragged her to the door of the train. She caught the console on the way past and stopped him, spinning his tenuous hold from her body with a swift twist of her hips. Finch heard him cry out in pain as Dominic's own momentum slammed him into the bulkhead. He released her as he fell, allowing her to get both hands on the lever that controlled the train.

"Last stop, Gentlemen. _Get off!_" She turned her eyes on the still form lying on the bier. "This train, this train is now my means…'O happy dagger'." She moved to depress the lever.

Finch reached for her just as Dominic recovered from his fall. Stone was kneeling on the floor of the train, cradling his broken hand to his chest. The brace had come off, the splints askew. His face was deathly grey and his mouth bloodless, a mere thin line across his face. His eyes were desolate as he lifted his left hand to her, all four fingers extended. He reached up and touched her belly. "You can't go with him, Evey. He wants you to stay. He wants you to stay for the baby. He gave you this gift, Evey. He is still inside you. Don't destroy his last vestige."

At these words, she dropped the lever; her hands flew to cover his fingers which were now pressed hard against her belly. Finch saw an expression of shock and astonishment wash over her face. Finch took her shoulders in his hands and pushed her toward the door. Dominic rolled back against the console, trying to get to his feet, but failed. He rolled through the door, landing heavily on the cement. As Finch stepped toward the doors with the Hammond girl in his arms, she reached out and pulled the lever. The train jerked them both through the doors and tossed them onto the pavement as it began to slide slowly toward Parliament. He set the Hammond girl on her feet and lifted a crumpled Dominic to his. The three of them watched the train disappear into the darkness, the only sound was the low rumble of the tracks.

When the train was gone from sight, the Hammond girl turned venomous eyes on Dominic. "You lied to me! It's impossible! He told me he could _never_ father a child. I can't be carrying his child! You shocked me just long enough to distract me. A cruel trick. Cruel! Beastly! Vicious!" She drew her hand back to slap him. Finch caught her wrist before she could express her outrage physically. Her words had done enough damage. Dominic looked like he had already been beaten, his eyes glistened, his throat was working but no words emerged from his mouth. Just a strangled sound. The Hammond girl struggled to get her wrist back. Finch held her tightly. Stone was hurt enough. _She will not escape. She will not strike him._

Dominic recovered his voice, but spoke with effort, "Evey. It's true. You've been sick every morning when you've brought my breakfast. Each day this past week. You've been pale and you've been lightheaded. Twice you had to lean on the wall when you poured my tea." His voice was hoarse. The sandpaper words were forced through a clenched jaw. "This morning you spent thirty minutes in the loo, retching. I heard you."

She shot back at him, accusing, "That was because it was the Fourth. It was just nerves."

"No Eve. You are pregnant." She put a hand over her belly defiantly, glaring at him. Dominic continued, his voice was soft now. "Tell me, are you late?" Her lips moved. Finch saw her counting to herself. He saw her eyes widen with realization. Dominic took her arm from Finch, bent his head to gaze deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe. "He knew too, Eve. He _knew_. Let's go upstairs," he said as they heard the faint strains of Tchaikovsky begin to play from the loudspeakers topside.

"I want to see the fireworks," she whispered. "There's a lift that will take us to the roof."

Finch stirred, "But it's raining,"

She shook off Dominic's hand and moved past them to the stairs, "God is in the rain; don't you know that, Inspector?" She said.

Finch caught Dominic's left elbow and helped him climb, following Miss Hammond to the lift. They rode in silence, emerging to wet drizzle, the lights of London, a starless sky and the booming sounds of the first explosions some distance away. Finch took off his Mac and draped it over the young woman's shoulders. She stepped to the parapet and stared off to the horizon where the brightly colored fireworks lit the sky with an artificial dawn. She spoke; her voice was thoughtful. "'See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, that Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.'" She stared a moment longer then twisted away from the fire. The rain wet her face as the drops danced around her head. "Inspector," she turned those luminous eyes upon him again. She smiled, reached up and touched his cheek with red fingers. He did not flinch. _Impossible, what I see in her eyes._ "I have a gift for you. Downstairs. You will be amazed. A warren of data, an archive of human accomplishment. A testimony to what one man can do, alone, with nothing but his mind and his will. A panoply of all that is best in the world. Come with me. Let me open your eyes, Inspector, and show you what you have never seen before." She took his elbow and tilted her head toward the lift.

Finch intended to gather Dominic to him with a glance, so he paused, waiting to catch the younger man's eye, but his partner was leaning on the parapet gazing at the fireworks. Finch heard him speak to the fire, "I will. I promise."

"Touch me not…" John 20:17

"O happy dagger" and "See what a scourge…" from _Romeo and Juliet_


End file.
